


Here or There

by imyourplusone



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: 3.11-ish with a twist, F/M, LITERALLY, coffee shop AU, imposter-less, interdimensional lizzington, more like s1 mythology, no Tom or baby drama, parallel worlds and the stuff such dreams are made of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-06-25 11:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyourplusone/pseuds/imyourplusone
Summary: She woke that day to the strangest sensation, the smallest discomfort at the scar on her wrist. It bothered her all through the morning. Time and again she found her fingers rubbing across the damaged skin, something she had not done in a very long time.





	1. Across the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the time of 3.11 when all seemed right with the world after the 3.10 rise up reunion but then the next episode we somehow entered another dimension where nothing made sense. Seems like a good time for Liz to do the same.
> 
> This is what happens when she wonders what their lives would be had there never been a fire and the universe decides to show her.

She still wonders about it. 

Whether it was real or some trick of the mind. Perhaps it was simply a dream that came and stayed for a while.

And then it left, leaving nothing as it was before. 

* * *

It began with the argument. 

Strange when they are usually the ending of things. When words can no longer be retrieved and actions understood. The spark between them had at last ignited but it flared out of control and there seemed no way of getting it back.

It smoldered for days that turned into weeks.

How could they know how difficult it would be to re-enter the world after their time as the Most Wanted? There was no thought of it on the night she crossed the street to where he was waiting. No worry that the return to her life wouldn’t be at all how she left it and that they’d both feel the sting of it everyday. A hastily rented house will have to do for now but the boxes remain piled around. Her certificates and achievements seem hollow without the badge that should accompany them. In truth, there is an echoing emptiness within everything she touches and the tighter he holds on only makes it ring louder. 

_Hello Dearie. Word of caution, he’s in a bad mood._

When did Mr. Kaplan begin issuing those warnings on her visits to his varied safehouses? It’s difficult to pinpoint the shift or when her mood began to closely match his or maybe it was the other way round. It must have started when she could no longer breathe or find an escape from it.

_What are you doing here?_

But he was sitting on the reason for his latest break-in. Perhaps he thought the sofa would spur her on to sorting through her belongings and getting the place in order. Perhaps he simply wanted to give her some measure of comfort. 

_You know I usually like people to enter my home after I’m in it._

_You can’t hide away here forever._

_Well, you’d know all about that wouldn’t you._

It seemed like this was all that remained between them. Sharp edges that cut and pushed them apart. 

_I forgot how much it sickens me to come here._

_Then why bother? We beat Berlin and the Cabal. Isn’t that enough for you? It is for me._

_Is it enough?_

One of the few times she had returned to the Post Office and he put into words exactly what she was feeling. The heaviness pulling her under was just another reminder that she was no longer an agent but merely a consultant. She hated the defeat in their words and the way his jaw clenched as the silence lingered until he walked toward the elevator. 

They must have known they were heading toward an impact. It was only the how or why of it that they did not see and, even if they had, they were moving to fast to avoid it. 

She woke that day to the strangest sensation, the smallest discomfort at the scar on her wrist. It bothered her all through the morning. Time and again she found her fingers rubbing across the damaged skin, something she had not done in a very long time. 

It was everywhere though. A spark in the air around her that pricked and poked, that would not let her alone. Maybe that is how she noticed in the first place. Her senses were already heightened, her nerves frayed to the point of breaking and judging by Raymond’s demeanor when she stormed into his apartment, his were as well. 

“I won’t have it, Reddington.”

“What won’t you have, Elizabeth?”

“Stop with your games.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, his thoughts impossible to read as always. “I won’t be followed or surveilled.”

“Do you imagine I think we’re in the midst of a _game_?”

She had turned away when her anger spiked, walking back and forth along his bookcases as the faces from the photographs stared back at her. There was a sudden urge to tear through the place, unearth all his secrets, all the things he hides while letting her keep nothing to herself. Find where he stores the images of his wife and child and force them into the light. Something, anything to make him feel as ripped apart as she does and break through the mask he wears.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“So this is about Tom, I see.”

“You know it is. This is not for you to _manage_.”

It was there again, that burning in her skin and she covered the scar with her other hand, her knuckles growing white as she increased the pressure. An action that didn’t go unnoticed and his eyes drop for a moment, studying her before responding.

“I make it my business to know the location of all my enemies. You can ignore my warnings, but I will still do whatever I have to in order to ensure your safety.”

“You expect me to believe—”

“Believe what you want, you always have. Howl at the moon if it makes you feel any better.”

He had never lost his temper with her, not in any real way. She is the one who has screamed and raged, but never him. Even then his voice rose only marginally, but it was the anger that boiled just below the surface that finally met her own. That it would be that day of all days when she spotted Baz at the docks. The day she finally agreed to meet with Tom and told him to go. When she could, at last, be done with the entire humiliating experience, she turned to leave, only to realize there was a witness to it. 

“Why would you have me followed?”

“For god’s sake, stop being so naive, Elizabeth,” he replied with growing exasperation. “Do you really think there are no more dangers outside that door?”

“That’s your battle…”

_Not mine._

With a sharp intake of breath, she brought her wrist up to hold close to her body, unable to continue. The pain intensified with every second and it was all she could do not to double over from the shock of it.

“No.” She held her other hand toward him when he took a step forward, halting him in his tracks.

Her eyes closed, blocking out his words, not wanting to contemplate the dangers they still face just as she has done every time he broached the subject. They have known nothing else. It is woven into them now and there is no escaping it.

Loss. 

“I wish I could undo it all,” she continued, looking at him as the memory of the fire blazed in her eyes. “Whatever it was that you refuse to tell me.”

“Lizzy, what—”

She couldn’t explain as she brought her arm in to cross over the other. It felt as if she had been branded by all the unknown treachery in their past and she wondered fleetingly if his own scars still burn. A question she has never been able to ask since he is unaware she knows the path of destruction the fire left across his back. 

“Then you would never have known me and all this mess. You’d still have…”

 _Them_.

A family. Something to hold to that wouldn’t constantly inflict more damage.

“Lizzy!”

She never heard him call out to her. Will never remember how she arrived on the sidewalk in front of his building or the car bearing down on her when she walked into the street.

* * *

The sidewalk is crowded and Liz is jostled about, spinning in a full circle before she makes it to the side of the building to catch her breath.

And attempts to remember where the hell she is.

This is certainly not the quiet street in Bethesda where she exited Raymond’s apartment building only a moment before but rather…her neighborhood in Alexandria by the look of it. 

But how did she get here?

She pushes against the wall behind her until the bricks dig into her back, just to the point of discomfort, and it is then she looks down at the scar on her wrist where the pain has gone as quickly as it came. With a shaking hand she runs her fingers across the old injury, but it is cool to the touch.

“Okay, calm down.”

No one seems to notice her there as she once more brings her arms up across her body or the few mumbled words as she sorts through her scattered thoughts. It is no use. Her memory goes no further after turning away from him and walking toward the door, wishing she could unravel their histories and free him of whatever pledge he made on her behalf.

A breath of wind catches her attention as it moves over her, causing a prickling along the nape of her neck, and she looks up in surprise.

“What the—”

Instinctively she pushes away from the wall and begins walking. It’s not him, she tells herself. He’s in Bethesda, in his secret apartment, probably still replaying their heated exchange just as she would be doing if not for suddenly losing her mind.

At seeing him pass her on the sidewalk in full Naval uniform. 

“It’s not him.”

Maybe saying it out loud….but, who is she kidding? She’d know that profile anywhere and continues on, having no earthly idea what is happening or what could possibly be waiting for her. She follows him to the end of the block where he enters a coffee shop on the corner and suddenly she knows exactly where she is. However, there isn’t the least bit of reassurance that it is one she has frequented a time or two since moving into the area or that her home is only a few blocks away.

He joins the line as if he doesn’t have a care in the world with his hat tucked under his arm. There are a few customers in between them and she waits with no explanation of why she doesn’t go to him. Demand an explanation for the gap in her memory and his dress blues with enough ensignia and gold stripes on his sleeves that leave little doubt as to the rank of the officer.

“I’m dreaming.”

The woman in front of her glances curiously over her shoulder and Liz offers a small smile before stepping out of line and over to a display of items for sale. She is rifling through the teas, stealing glances his way, still only able to see him in profile from her angle. 

One thing is certain though. It is definitely Raymond and aside from the uniform there seems nothing out of the ordinary. Except everything is out of the ordinary as some inner voice tells her not to make her presence known. Inexplicably she listens to it and watches, fascinated, as his order is handed over as soon as he arrives at the counter. He must be a regular for them to already have it prepared and for the hundredth time, she wonders how it is possible. 

He turns and stops a moment, looking down as he adjusts the lid on his cup. Except his eyes are actually directed toward the opposite side of the shop from where Liz is standing and she moves around the display to get a better look. 

Her gasp is so loud, a few patrons near her glance over momentarily before returning to their books and gadgets. She feigns interest in the espresso beans while everything slows. While he is without a doubt looking in the direction of the woman seated at one of the tables by the window. 

A woman with similar…

That could almost pass for...

Who is she kidding? Liz is looking at Raymond looking at a woman that looks exactly like herself.

“Wake up, dammit.”

She no longer cares who hears her, only wanting an end to the dream. An end to her heart racing out of control as the room starts to spin. 

With determined steps that could only be born from years of service, he leaves the shop and Liz leans over to follow his progress through the windows where he stops at the intersection, waiting for the light to cross. The darkness is there in her periphery now and the strangest pulling sensation. There is no more time, knowing she will wake, and in those last seconds, she looks back to the woman across the shop.

The woman who is now staring out of the window toward the corner. Her head turns slightly as a certain Naval officer begins striding across the street. Lizzy watches her watch him until he is out of sight and the darkness closes in.

* * *

“Elizabeth!”

There is nothing but blinding pain and she thinks she must have fallen. How else could she have ended up flat on her back? With supreme effort, Liz opens her eyes a fraction, just enough to see Raymond hovering over her, blocking out the midday sun. 

“Where is your uniform?”

“Uh..”

Quite without thought he glances down at his usual vest and tie then back to her face as she slips once more into unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always like to give a shoutout to what inspires me. In this case, I probably wouldn't have had the idea for this fic had I not been thinking of classic movies for a one shot idea and _It's a Wonderful Life_ crossed my mind just as the movie trailer for _Yesterday_ came on. I highly recommend both and appreciate the universe throwing those together at the right time.


	2. Dreams And Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate the comments and kudos. Thanks for reading!

“Raymond, stop pacing,” Liz mumbles. “You’re giving me a headache. I’m fine.”

He stops mid-pace and turns to look at her incredulously. “I’m giving you a headache?”

It comes out as an exclamation rather than a question and he’d swear he hears it echo through the empty warehouse. With a pang of guilt for all that has transpired, he resumes his to and fro route within the mobile hospital tent and says no more.

It is a little while before the physician returns and Liz listens to the test results as if they apply to someone else. Multiple contusions, bruised ribs, concussion. With all those injuries she would expect to feel something, anything, but there is only a numbness that she hopes will last a while longer. It must be owing to whatever is dripping through her IV and she lifts her hand to look at the bandage covering the needle. Or maybe it’s simply the shock if it all.

“Do you have any questions?”

Her eyes blink a few times, attempting to focus on the doctor who is standing just beyond, and realizes he is speaking to her. “Can I go home?”

“I’d suggest having someone with you. You’ll want to avoid sleep for the next several hours, then have them wake you a few times through the night. If there are any signs of further loss of consciousness or disorientation, you must go to a hospital for additional testing.”

There are more instructions, but she closes her eyes and lets the conversation carry on around her. Only a few hours previously, she was wishing she could free them of the burden they carry for each other and here she is again. Needing him.

But there is more to it than that. She wants him close by, especially today when she still has no explanation for her lapse in memory. Something she has kept to herself as well as the strange dream when she was knocked unconscious. She will freely admit the thought of being alone right now unnerves her. 

“Raymond.”

A few parting words before the doctor leaves and he comes to sit by her. “Elizabeth, I’m going to ask you to be reasonable. May I remind you, you were hit by a car and need—”

“Shhhh.” Which he does, surprisingly, and simply waits for her to continue, growing more and more grim by the second. “I’m still angry and I know you are too but I have a sofa that pulls out apparently. If you’re interested.”

“I’m interested,” he murmurs, appearing immensely relieved and reaches to brush her hair back, stopping to trace the bruise on her forehead. “It’ll save me having to break in.”

“Yeah, we have to talk about that.”

“But not today. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

It takes a while to get everything in order and a bit longer to get her in an upright position. She hadn’t realized how dizzy she was until she tried to actually move and now thinks the doctor’s instructions to rest for several days a splendid idea.

“Damn, I forgot about the stairs,” Liz mutters when they finally arrive at the small row house she has rented. 

“We can do this.”

She smiles ruefully at the determination in Raymond’s voice regarding the daunting prospect of ascending the staircase. If not for the pain medication choosing that moment to begin wearing off, it probably would have been easier, but her battered body objects to every step. There is no objection, however, to his arm slipping around her side or that it remains there until she is safely sitting on the side of her bed.

He stoops quickly to slip off her shoes and then stands, taking a look at her bedroom that consists of a lamp on the floor and several boxes stacked in the corner.

“Lizzy, do you need any help with, um, anything at all?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” She glances around and thinks the starkness of the place _is_ as bad as it looks, but it is also too much to deal with at present. “Why don’t you make some tea while I get changed.”

With a sigh, he leaves and doesn’t hear her soft gasp at the precise moment the door closes.

* * *

With a sharp intake of breath, she looks down at her scar that is once again burning as if it had just been touched by fire. As if it had been waiting for Raymond to go, but how could that be?

None of this makes any sense.

Her fingers rub across her skin, back and forth, willing it to stop. She counts to ten and closes her eyes and continues on. Eleven, twelve, thirteen...

And opens them when she feels the sun on her face and the chatter of people all around her.

“Oh no.”

She’s sitting at one of the small tables outside of the coffee shop and barely has time to register the fact she is barefoot before the familiar prickling along the nape of her neck causes her to freeze. He passes within a few feet of her, his uniform crisp and blue with the gold bands on his sleeves bright against the dark fabric. 

It takes only a few minutes as the shop is less crowded today. From where she sits, she watches as his order is handed over, the turn where he stops to fiddle with the lid and glance at the woman sitting by the window on the other side. When he exits, Liz watches as she follows his progress down the street.

This woman who looks like a mirror image of herself except for the color of their hair. It takes the breath from her body seeing her there. It could be herself before she was hunted. Before she dyed her hair and became a stranger to herself. 

“That’s not me. It’s just a dream,” Liz whispers to no one in particular, closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness makes the sidewalk tilt. 

And opens them in her bedroom as her fingers continue moving across her skin that no longer burns. _Just a dream,_ which she could almost believe if she wasn’t somewhat convinced she is actually wide awake. Her heart is beating loud in her ears and she rises, not wanting Raymond to return and see her so shaken. 

As soon as she reaches the door to her closet, the pain in her scar erupts again and in a blink she is leaning against a brick column within the coffee shop, the tile cold under her feet. She is there just as his order is handed over, followed by the turn, the glance to the tables by the window, and the woman who waits for him to leave before looking up. 

In a breath, Liz feels the door frame of her closet digging into her shoulder and realizes she is hurting all over. Everywhere but her scar.

A few steps beyond and she comes to lean against the counter in her bathroom, intent on splashing some cold water in her face. Something to make her wake up because she must be wrong. It must be a dream, but the pain returns in a flash and she can only hang on. 

She’s outside again, on the opposite side of the coffee shop, and closer to the woman. Only a few feet separate them and Liz finds herself holding her breath as she steps to the edge of the window directly behind. The perfect vantage point to look inside when he enters, without the uniform this time. He’s in slacks and a dress shirt and she wonders if it’s a weekend or if he has simply not put on the jacket and tie as of yet.

“What the hell?”

How could it possibly be the weekend when it’s supposed to be a Tuesday afternoon and she’s really at home in her bathroom. He turns and glances their way. Well, toward the woman a few feet in front of Liz to be more specific. He continues on and it is as it was before. A looks up when he exits and her eyes tracking his route to the corner until he passes out of view. 

“Are you okay?”

Liz turns and sees a woman at one of the outdoor tables has asked her the question that is running non-stop through her mind.

“I’ve been better.”

Just as she leans against the wall, feeling the heat radiate into her back, it disappears. There she is again, reflected in the mirror across from where she is slumped against her bathroom door.

No wonder the woman was concerned. She is bruised and scraped with her hair a tangled mess not to mention the rather wild look in her eyes. 

“Get it together,” she mutters to herself and hopes like hell she does so, and quickly. 

* * *

“You going somewhere?” Raymond asks, when he enters with her tea a few minutes later. 

“I like to be prepared.”

He gives her a rather odd look, probably trying to determine if this is a sign of the disorientation the doctor warned of, but lets it pass for now. She takes the mug he offers and leans back against the pillows propped against the wall since there is nothing but a metal frame for the mattress. A moment later she pats the space next to her and feels the bed dip when he sits.

“Dare I ask how you’re feeling?”

“What’s that saying about being hit by a truck?”

“Hmmm, I thought as much.”

He hands over the bottle of pain medication, and though she’d like to do without them, she is feeling nothing short of throttled. What she’d rather do is crawl under the covers and sleep the day away, but instead she’s changed into a loose summer dress and is sitting in bed with her shoes on. Not because she has anywhere to go, but because she doesn’t want to end up in the coffee shop in her sleep shorts and bare feet.

It’s all she can do not to laugh hysterically and takes a pill without a second thought. “When can I sleep?”

“Tonight, as usual. I’ll wake you a time or two, but otherwise a few days rest will do wonders.”

“I hope so.”

He waits a few seconds before asking what he can’t seem to let go. “Are you alright?”

There’s simply no way to answer that anymore so she doesn’t even try. With a shrug, she takes another sip of tea. “What are we going to do about dinner?”

“I’ve had a look in your refrigerator and sent Dembe for supplies and some clothes for a day or so. I’m also sure there’s a stack of take-out menus around here somewhere so that will take care of food for this evening.”

“That’s good,” she whispers, taking another sip.

This is what she needs. Some order to the things that make sense while firmly ignoring what doesn’t.

“Lizzy, I need to ask you something.” He waits until she looks up then fidgets a moment before growing still. “You wouldn’t….that is to say, you didn’t walk into the street on purpose or…”

“Why would you think that?”

But she knows why, even before he goes on to explain what has worried him for hours now. 

“Your steps never slowed," he explains. "I'm not exactly sure you heard me calling you. If the car hadn't had time to slow down...”

She shakes her head as a chill runs through her when she realizes what exactly he witnessed. “It wasn’t on purpose, Raymond. I don’t know what it was. The heat maybe or being distracted.”

_Or losing my grasp on reality._

“I’m sorry to ask.”

“Not as sorry as I am that you had to see it.”

And she thinks she understands now. What she has perceived as their growing anger over the last few weeks is really one simple truth reflected in his features. Fear. 

Something inside begins to hurt. Something too deep to have felt the impact of the car. 

“Do you really think we’re in danger?”

“I think with notoriety comes all sorts of unexpected repercussions. It might be wise to utilize an overabundance of caution for awhile.”

She nods her head and begins plucking at the blanket on which she rests, unaware of the nervous movements.

“Speaking of being wise, I told Tom to leave today. I’d have preferred doing that without Baz as an audience, though,” she concludes with an arch of her brow.

There’s a pause as he studies her, wishing there were words to alleviate the harm that has been done. “It won’t happen again.”

“And I’ll listen the next time you want to warn me of impending bodily harm.”

He reaches to place a hand over hers, waiting until it relaxes and she smiles when his thumb moves back and forth. Just like they do most of the time. Back and forth until they can find their way to some middle ground as they have today. 

The sound of her front door opening makes him sit up straighter and he pulls his hand away. 

“That will be Dembe. Let me round up those menus and I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here,” she replies with a smile, trying to believe her own words.

She is glad some of the worry has left his eyes and that he doesn’t see her hand that is now clenching the blanket underneath, as she hangs onto this world.


	3. In Other Worlds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

“Tomorrow will be better.”

He says it out of the blue, and she starts, realizing she was lost in thought again. Her hand has been absentmindedly rubbing across the scar on her wrist and she forces herself to relax under his all too knowing gaze.

“I’m sure it will be. It’s been a long day.”

An understatement to say the least. It is difficult to grasp all that has occurred. Finally freeing herself of Tom, the argument with Raymond and a collision with a car that she still can’t recall. Not to mention everything else that she simply has no words for.

“Lizzy?”

“Hmmm?”

“I asked if you needed anything from the kitchen.”

It unnerves her the way her mind can slip in so short a time and she shivers. Something completely at odds with the warm summer night. They had come out to sit on her small patio for dinner owing to the fact there is an outdoor dining set that was there when she moved in. They stayed as it grew darker and the city lost its daytime bustle. They stayed a little longer because she’s been reluctant to return upstairs not knowing what might happen. 

“Maybe some water.”

He smiles and nods, giving her a pat on the arm as he passes. Just as she feared, as soon as he steps inside, the scar comes to life again. Her body rebels at the sudden turn when she looks back toward the house, searching for Raymond through the kitchen window. He’s so close, but it doesn’t stop the darkness.

A heartbeat later she’s sitting in the coffee shop, twisted in her seat toward the counter where the Admiral has just taken his cup from the barista. They turn in sync as Lizzy already knows the routine by heart and waits as he steals a glance. Even though she crouches down, attempting to not draw attention to herself, she steals a glance of her own. The woman is in her usual spot, but her attention is directed outside at the customer that just exited. Neither notice the woman with blonde hair that studies them and who looks remarkably like…

Raymond’s hand on her back makes her sit up straighter and she waits as he sets her glass of water on the table and draws his chair a little closer. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“No, I was just…”

_Having an out of body experience._

“....resting my eyes.”

“Why don’t you try to sleep now? The doctor advised waking you every three hours or so as an extra precaution, but other than that the rest will do you good.”

What he doesn’t say is the reason for it. To make sure she _will_ wake up. Something, under normal circumstances would disconcert her, but as it is, she is too numb to dwell on it. 

With a nod and a sip of water, she holds the glass to her wrist for a moment before rising. He will think these strange actions just part of her concussive state and the agitation simply a byproduct of the trauma to her system. What he won’t know and what she can’t possibly explain is the prickling in her scar that is a sign of what will come. That as soon as he assists her up the staircase and into her room, when he brushes a kiss along her cheek with the promise to see her in a few hours before shutting the door, the pain will take her breath away. It will render her powerless against the forces that will pull her from her consciousness.

She opens her eyes to the sidewalk crowded with pedestrians and only needs to turn to see into the coffee shop and what she already knows to be waiting. It takes a moment for her to find him in the crowd as it is another day he is without his uniform. Jeans, this time and a loose linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up give no clue of his profession or rank. Every other part of the routine remains the same and within a minute or two Lizzy has returned to her darkened bedroom. 

With a few steps, she arrives at her bed just in time for the dizzying sensation to sweep over her. Another breath and she is within the shop sitting at a table near the door. 

But she has had enough.

He’s there in the middle of the line and before the rest of the ritual can play out, Lizzy is walking out the door and down the block, in the opposite direction of the Admiral’s normal path.

What the point of this actually is, she can’t imagine. Exactly what her damaged mind is trying to tell her doesn’t make it through the fog of pain and confusion. There is only the vague recollection of their heated words, the argument that ensued and the burning of her scar drawing her back within the memory of the fire. When she looked in his eyes to his own torment and wished to free him of it. 

“Why does this matter?” she mutters to absolutely no one except herself. “Without the fire, we would never have met.”

That was the point. He would have the life from _before_. 

It takes a full city block for it to sink in. What she said and what it means. The realization stops her in her tracks and she is jostled about as those behind her try to get around the roadblock she has created. 

Until she slowly turns back toward the coffee shop a few corners away.

Until the dawning comprehension takes hold, as impossible as it all is.

She retraces her steps, seeming to arrive in no time at all. The Admiral is already across the street, moving up the block. With a glance in the window, Liz finds the woman within looking in his direction. 

Not stopping to second guess her actions and before she runs out of time, she turns to a couple sitting at one of the outdoor tables and points to a napkin next to a blueberry muffin they are sharing. 

“Excuse me, but do you mind if I just…”

If they mind her taking it, she will never know as the familiar tugging sensation arrives and she opens her eyes in her bedroom. The cycle is complete. Her scar is asleep again and somehow she now understands these experiences come in threes. Except the first that was interrupted by a car.

She doesn’t want to know what the answer will be as she sits immovable on her bed, prolonging the inevitable.

Because there is no explanation for the napkin printed with the coffee shop logo that she pulls from the pocket of her dress. 

* * *

Raymond hates to disturb her, remembering the fatigue etched deeper and deeper into her features as the evening wore on. They are being overly cautious with the concussion protocol and he hopes she will be able to drop off to sleep again immediately. When he taps lightly on her door and enters the dimly lit room, he has only taken a step before he realizes that won’t be the case.

“I’m awake.”

If not for her quiet statement he would’ve sworn otherwise. She is lying on her side, facing the middle of the bed with a blanket pulled up to her neck. There is little he can discern and moves closer, attempting to make out her features.

“Have you been awake this whole time?”

“Yes”

“Lizzy, do you need—”

But he stops suddenly when she reaches out and pulls back the covers closest to him. She waits as he studies her, processing the unexpected turn of events. A moment’s hesitation more and he gives his robe a toss toward one of the boxes along to wall and climbs in. 

It makes her smile to see him in his faded tee shirt and pajama pants, plus the robe that she recognizes as a favorite with its frayed edges. They are familiar to her now after the months spent together, but it was not always so. Weeks passed after the Connelly shooting before she saw him in anything other than his impeccably tailored clothes. Whether it was simply timing or her habit of rising late she doesn’t know, but suspects it was perhaps a way of drawing a line in the sand while they fought to stay alive during those early days. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly.

“Everything.”

It is the truth. Her mind has raced about for hours now, not letting her rest. Not so much focusing on the small napkin she hastily shoved under her mattress out of sight, but on the forces that she somehow put into motion. Was it really that simple? The argument and her fleeting desire that their histories would somehow never have met, that they would live the lives they were meant to before a fire burned them to the ground. That he would have the family he lost and not the turmoil they seem to bring to one another.

All the things she can’t talk about.

Except now he is watching her from the next pillow over and for the first time in a long time she smiles and relaxes just a little. For the first time in a long time she says exactly what she is thinking at that moment.

“I have to say, these aren’t the circumstances I thought would lead to our finally sharing a bed,” she murmurs sleepily and laughs softly as his eyebrows move higher and higher. “Raymond Reddington rendered speechless. Will wonders never cease.”

It takes a few seconds and she sees him swallow before he responds. “Only by you, Elizabeth.”

She snuggles down into the huskiness of his voice and stretches a bit before closing her eyes.

“I have one question though.”

“Just one?”

“I have several questions,” he clarifies as he shifts position.

“What?”

Her eyes open again to find him sitting up on his elbow and leaning toward her. It is her turn to be surprised when his hand finds her knee under the covers before running it down her leg. 

“Are you wearing shoes?”

“I—”

She can’t for the life of her think of an explanation. Besides, she’s more than a little distracted as he pulls her shoe off and then the other, dropping them to the floor. Further distracted as to why he lets his hand travel back up her leg until he meets the hem of the shirt dress she had changed into after they returned to her home.

“You were saying?” 

He is smiling at her and even in the dimness she can see the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. This is the smile she loves. The one that is quiet and soft when he looks at her and no one else.

“I was hit by a car, you know.” There is more to it than that and they both know it, but it will have to wait as she relaxes once again. “But I think I can sleep now.”

He lies back facing her, a bit closer than before, and drapes his arm over her hip. In a moment she is drifting off as the slow circles his fingers are making across her back, somehow ease the ache in her body.

“What are your other questions?” she whispers.

“We’ll talk about those later.”

In a minute, she is asleep with a smile still lingering. In another minute, Raymond closes his eyes and follows her.

* * *

He wakes her only once. Just to be safe.

“Reddington, will you let me sleep?” she grumbles before turning the other way, immediately feeling the sting in her muscles, a sharp reminder of the previous days events. “You can rub my back a little more though.”

No, he won’t wake her again, somehow knowing the greatest risk is behind them as he chuckles close to her ear. His hand trails a path back and forth across her back until their breathing levels out and it comes to rest.

The next time she wakes, the sun is streaming in and Liz has no idea if it is morning or afternoon with how deeply she has slept. She turns in the bed that is now empty and it all seems like a dream, from the feel of him near her and the pressure of his touch that kept her _here_ and not... _there_. 

With a gasp, she bolts upright as her scar blazes once again. There is enough time to roll from the bed and stoop to pick up her shoes from the floor where Raymond dropped them. When she rises, the heat of the sidewalk under her bare feet causes another gasp to escape as her senses are assaulted by the noise of the traffic nearby and the brightness of the sun overhead. 

“Well, this is new.”

The only thing she can think to say. There is no sign of the coffee shop or the familiarity of her neighborhood, nothing that gives her a clue to this strange destination until she turns to glance behind her, clutching her shoes even tighter to her chest.

“Oh, no.”

Wondering what exactly the universe is trying to tell her and why on earth she is staring at the Pentagon.


	4. The Road Not Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

_This can’t be good._

Which part ranks higher on the _not good_ scale, Liz isn’t really sure. That she is standing next to the Pentagon with no clue how she got here or what this new development means. That up until recently, she was atop the Most Wanted list for shooting the Attorney General of the United States, therefore, loitering about in her bare feet looking like she slept in her clothes, which she did as a matter of fact, might just arouse suspicion. 

“But that didn’t happen _here_.”

None of this is good.

Least of all her rather alarming statement. If this is _here_ , then what happened to _there_ and can she stop being pulled between the two? The effect this thought has on her psyche is monumental and it is difficult to tell whether the dizziness that descends is due to her confusion or what is controlling all of this. A moment later, she plops down on her bed, already exhausted with the day. 

But it’s not over. Her scar is still on fire, further proof of what she has learned. 

“Two more.”

She waits with the fervent hope she’s not going where she already suspects, but she is powerless against the world tilting. With a sigh, she spins around in a rather comfortable leather chair and comes to a stop behind a massive mahogany desk.

Her impending arrest flashes before her eyes and she mutters an oath, reaching across the desk toward the wooden placard facing away from where she sits. Another sigh, louder this time, when she can’t reach it. As quietly as possible, she walks around to the front in order to read the name printed there.

_Admiral Raymond Reddington_

“Fantastic,” she mutters, thinking there’s no possibility she’ll be able to talk her way out of here, especially when she is technically a felon.

“Not _here_ though.”

Regardless, being caught in the Admiral’s Pentagon office is something she wants to avoid and with a deep breath, she begins. Realizing she is still clutching her shoes, she hastily slips them on, then runs her shaking hands through her tangled hair. Whatever she is meant to learn, she wants to do so quickly and get the hell out of _here_ and...

Back to _there_.

“Shut up,” she tells herself firmly and moves around the desk where she started.

Her instincts kick in and she tackles the office as if processing a crime scene, forming a profile as she goes. It is large and imposing, befitting an officer of importance. There are letters and memoranda scattered about as if he was just sifting through the day’s events before stepping out. She skims them, not gaining much information except for the initials associated with his name that keep catching her attention.

“ _CNO_?”

With a shake of her head, she moves to the bookcase lining one side of the room. It is so unlike the Raymond she knows. Leatherbound editions that appear to have never been touched. Framed photos showing him at one ceremony or the other and with numerous dignitaries. One in particular draws her attention and it dawns on her what office he holds.

“Chief of Naval Operations,” she mumbles, staring at the photo of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of which the Admiral is a member. 

It doesn’t make any sense but, then again, she supposes it does. That he would achieve one of the highest ranks and offices in the Navy does not surprise her, but it is so at odds with the other Raymond. A contrast she is moving too fast to stop and ponder. 

The opposite side of the office is much the same except for a small grouping of photos that show a time earlier in his career. He is standing on the dock near a Naval cruiser and she wonders if this was his first command. There are pictures of other ships that grew bigger and bigger over time until there were no more, perhaps coinciding with the promotion that took him away from the ocean. Something about this little corner of the office bothers her and she stops a moment to study the framed print above the credenza.

But it’s not a print at all, she realizes, leaning in for a closer look. It is an antique celestial map and she searches for a particular star until she finds it. Perhaps he has it as a reminder of the skies he used to sail under and the traditions of old. She wonders if he misses it here in this windowless world. 

Her hand reaches out to run across the glass where Polaris is positioned and feels that familiar tug, very near to her heart this time. As fascinated as she is with _this_ Raymond, he is not the one who pointed toward the starry night and told her of secret dreams.

God, how she misses him in that moment and she wants nothing more than to be done here.

“That’s it.” She steps back and looks from one side of the room to the other. The Admiral and the Captain and they could not be more different in her mind. 

It happens so quickly, there is no time to think. With instincts that would make her Quantico instructors proud, Liz dives for the side of the desk as the office door opens to a conversation already in progress. He seems not to have heard her yelp of pain when she collided with the floor and carries on without interruption. A few seconds pass as she listens to his clipped instructions to his assistant, in a voice that is exactly the same as the one she knows so well, only a bit more hurried as he discusses a packed schedule.

In a breath or two, the words fade away as if Liz has been pulled to the other end of a long tunnel and she rolls to her back expecting to see the ceiling of her bedroom. What she sees is most definitely not the ceiling of her bedroom.

“Oh, come on,” she grumbles, slowly rising to her feet as her aching body protests every movement.

With a glare at the chandelier above, where her bedroom light should be, she makes a full turn of the living room she has arrived in. It can only be the Admiral’s home she’s been dropped into and she freezes listening to the silence as she notices the darkness outside the windows. She fervently hopes he is out for the evening or a very sound sleeper.

A few small lamps have been left on and she is able to make a quick walk through of the downstairs without much trouble. Coming to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, she places her foot on the first step and hesitates, not wanting to intrude too far. Not that she was given any choice in the matter, but still. Besides, he might very well be up there and so she will have to learn whatever it is she is here to discover, firmly on the first floor.

Again, Liz switches back to the profiler within, taking in the contents of the living room and the architecture. It’s a historic property by the looks of it, one of many from a century or two ago that dominate in Old Town Alexandria. The antique clock over the mantle reads 2 o’clock and she glances again at the ceiling, now convinced the Admiral is somewhere overhead.

“Come on, think,” she whispers, attempting to focus.

The room is a bit formal with the air of not being used that frequently and she moves across the center hallway to the library that is similar to his office at the Pentagon. A desk is at one end with more bookshelves lining the walls. She glances at a few scattered photos and framed nautical maps that seem to be something he enjoys collecting. French doors lead into a sitting room which is where it appears he spends his time. There is a reading chair that looks well used, but it is the folders and reports stacked a foot high on the side table with a pair of reading glasses placed on top that draws her attention. She brushes her fingers lightly over the glasses with a quizzical expression and continues circling the room, thinking. 

Her hands run across the worn leather of the chair when she arrives back, not quite sure what is nagging at her.

Until she realizes.

He lives alone.

She spins in a circle and backtracks through the rooms. The office is filled with Naval memorabilia and mementos from his travels. Plaques, awards and commendations. For the first time it is glaringly obvious what she has not seen. There are no pictures of a family. 

“I don’t understand.”

Her whispered words go unanswered and she moves to the desk with a purpose now. As quietly as possible, she switches on the lamp before opening the drawers, not really sure what she is searching for. Next, she moves to a wooden filing cabinet and that is where the answer lies. It is on a tax document she happens across, which lists his marital status as divorced.

“But his daughter…”

Liz sits at the desk, studying the room and the one beyond, but there is no use. His child is not here. There is nothing to indicate the wife and daughter he would have come home to on Christmas Eve. The family she was so certain he would have, but Liz is thinking of _her_ Raymond and not _this_ Raymond and it is all too confusing to keep straight.

This man’s life is a mystery to her. The friends that are with him in these images are completely unfamiliar. There is no Dembe or Mr. Kaplan. No Baz or Marvin Gerard. No one in his life that she would recognize except the woman at the coffee shop that he has made a part of his morning routine.

The woman that is some version of herself.

It causes a tightness in her chest and she wants desperately to leave, to think and organize her thoughts, to...

The footsteps on the stairs have her sliding soundlessly to the floor under the desk and she is cursing whatever it is that sent her to the Pentagon during a workday and into the Admiral’s home in the middle of the night. She is not amused, not at all.

It also appears that she isn’t leaving just yet and chances a peek around the desk in time to catch a glimpse of him at the bottom of the staircase before he turns toward the back of the house. He is a double of Raymond except for his matching pajamas and robe that she swears are tailored to his form. The sounds of the refrigerator opening and silverware being taken from the drawer soon follow. It seems both Raymonds share a love of midnight snacking and it’s several minutes before she hears footsteps again. 

However, he doesn’t return to the stairs. The reading lamp is switched on in the sitting room next to the library where she is hiding and she can only hold her breath and hope like hell he doesn’t need anything from his desk or notice the light she turned on. It takes a minute before she realizes he has begun going through the reports stacked on the table and she chances a glimpse. She can't help the small smile at the reading glasses but it fades just as quickly. 

There must be enough similarities between the two that he at one time shared the same vision of the life Raymond told her of. It must have included his love of the ocean and not one mired in bureaucratic responsibilities. She finds it nothing short of painful to see him here, in the middle of the night, dealing with the things that steal one’s ability to sleep.

In the blink of an eye, she is crouching on the floor by her bed, with Raymond leaning over her and she wonders where it all will end. 

* * *

“Lizzy, did you fall out of bed?”

“No I didn’t fall out of bed,” she replies haughtily, as she struggles to rise from the floor, appearing very much like she fell out of bed. “I was looking for something.”

He seems dubious about that, but makes an effort to examine the floor after he helps her to stand. “Anything in particular?”

“Not really. This is nice.” Her thoughts are flying about and she can tell she’s not making much sense as she absentmindedly reaches out to give his blue shirt a tug before looking around the room to get her bearings. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Are you—“

“Can you ask me how I’m doing a little later? After I shower and you take me to lunch?”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms a few times, probably to make sure she’s not about to topple over, and finally gives her a smile. “Yes, I can do that.”

When she hears the soft click of her bedroom door closing, she looks down at her scar that is now sleeping and says to whomever might be listening. “Don’t even think about it.”

With that, she heads for the shower, not able to hide the grimace at her appearance in the mirror. If anything she looks remarkably worse than she did the day before. The bruises visible immediately following her run in with the car have only deepened and many more have since formed. It really is no wonder that Raymond keeps looking at her with nothing short of alarm. She can hardly blame him, really.

It is well past noon by the time she joins him downstairs after using every drop of hot water on her injured body. She’s in another dress, something light and flowy for summer that she bought to wear to the coast but it’s a trip that never came. Funny how she thinks of those things now, when she pushes her FBI garb to the side without a second glance. 

“You look nice.”

“That’s the kind of optimism I appreciate,” she says with forced lightness.

There wasn’t much she could do about the bruise across her forehead or the scrape on her knee, visible below the dress, or her general air of exhaustion. He seems not to notice judging by his smile and the way his head tilts as he looks at her. Only today it causes a lump to rise in her throat and she turns, feeling very close to tears.

“Thank you.” She clears her throat and walks to the door, needing to catch her breath. “I think I’m up for walking to the restaurant.”

“You know this is supposed to be the take it easy phase of your recovery, don’t you?”

“Fine. We’ll walk slow which is probably all I can manage if I’m being completely honest.”

He gives in, deciding not to push the subject, grateful he is at least with her. It is warm and humid, a typical late summer day that is busy with tourists and those that call this historic corner of Virginia home. After a few blocks, she slips her arm through his and he can sense immediately that she needs it to steady her.

“I don’t know about you, but I could go for a very prolonged and relaxed lunch about now.”

A not so subtle reminder that she shouldn’t overdo on this first day and she nods slightly. “A few more blocks.”

They stroll a bit more, most definitely at the slower pace Lizzy had predicted. She is limping slightly, something that catches his attention now that she is closer to his side. Once or twice, one or the other will stop at a store window for a few minutes. An antique shop and a few bakeries catch their attention before they continue on.

“Everything alright?” he asks when he hears her small gasp. 

“Yes.”

She can’t explain that it was the shock of seeing the coffee shop. They are on the opposite corner and she is relieved when they pass it quickly and from a distance. 

Another shopfront. A small secondhand bookstore this time and they both stop in unison to look through the window. And then it catches her attention. _They_ catch her attention, in the reflection staring back at her. She with her blond hair that is now quite long after their months on the run. The sleeveless dress not at all her typical wardrobe. And Raymond looks different too. Gone are the Fedora and vest, replaced with the loose linen shirt she had noticed immediately when she came back to herself. 

“We look so different, I’d hardly recognize us.”

He glances up from the cover of _The Elusive Soufflé_ he is studying through the glass and meets her gaze. “I suppose we are different, Lizzy.”

“I think I like this version better,” she says thoughtfully.

Even though her profile of the Admiral has only just taken form in her mind. Even though she has yet to be shown into the life of the other Elizabeth. It is coming though, she is certain of it. The shiver that runs up her spine is quite involuntary and he must have felt it too. 

“Elizabeth—”

“Before you ask me to be reasonable, I’ll admit I’m tired and ready for a two hour lunch so how about that bistro next door.”

“That’s more like it.”

He always makes her smile and she takes a last look at their image, a little distorted and partly in shadow as the sunlight is behind them now. Imperfect to be sure, but she watches until they disappear from view as he takes her hand for the short walk to the restaurant, not wanting to let them go.


	5. Somewhere In Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

She decides to ignore it.

Hopes it was simply her imagination.

Just a tiny prick of her scar, nothing more. 

At first it is easy to dismiss as she and Raymond lingered over their extended lunch. One day after being struck by a car, her body is a myriad of aches and pangs, so the small sting of the mottled skin at her wrist shouldn’t be surprising. Or the one that follows. Or the one after that. Until her fingers rub across it again and again, sometimes without thought, anything to extinguish what waits for her.

Liz knows it is to the other Elizabeth’s life she will be shown a glimpse of next. With her own life so horribly off track, there is a knot of apprehension in her stomach, thinking of going so near this alternate version of herself. The woman who is a mirror image except for the scar, who never experienced the devastating repercussions of betrayal and treachery. Who never dyed her hair and went on the run as a criminal. 

“Elizabeth?”

_With_ a criminal. 

“Lizzy?”

A woman who waits in a coffee shop every morning until a certain Admiral passes her by.

“Lizzy, let me see.”

She blinks and tries to focus on Raymond’s face, closer than before. He’s drawn his chair nearer to her side and it is then she realizes he has stilled her hand from rubbing the old injury. His own fingers trace the path the flame once traveled and, with a glance down, she watches as his touch soothes the ache there.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” 

But not in the way he thinks and she closes her eyes a moment, willing the tears away, unsure why they seem so close to the surface today. 

“Do you think you injured your wrist? Unfortunately, that may be the only part of your body they didn’t xray.” He moves her hand back and forth a time or two until turning it palm up. When he lays his hand over the scar, he looks up concerned. “Perhaps we should have the doctor take a look at it.”

Her thoughts go a little fuzzy, especially with his close proximity. Especially with the way she suddenly wonders what would happen if she gave into temptation, just once, and ran her hand around to the soft bristle of hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him forward. 

But she doesn’t, just as she never has. 

“I think we should let the restaurant have their table back,” she replies after a deep breath.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” A nod and small shrug follows, with more certainty in her voice. “Everything hurts at the moment, but I’m alright.”

“I can have Dembe drop by to pick us up.”

“Let’s go back to the bookshop and browse a bit. I’m not ready to go home.”

He studies her a few seconds but lets her be the guide of what she can tolerate this first day after the accident, and within a few minutes they are roaming the cramped aisles of the secondhand bookstore where she had caught their reflections in the window. Every moment she expects her scar to erupt to life, to be pulled into the world of the other Elizabeth, but every moment stretches into the next as she runs her hands absentmindedly along the shelves.

She spies Red already engrossed, probably in the soufflé book that had earlier captured his attention, and makes a concerted effort to do the same. It seems like years since she has read anything not related to her forensic casework and she determines to find something. What she finds is the mystery section and smiles, realizing the investigator she once was is still there inside. Perhaps a mystery to keep her mind busy is just what she needs.

It happens in an instant.

Having always intended to read a few of a certain Belgian detective’s cases, her hand reaches for the first in the series and she feels herself falling.

And lands right in the middle of the coffee shop.

* * *

As fast as her scar burned to life, the pain flashes out almost immediately when Liz spins in a panicked circle, not wanting to be seen by the Admiral or the woman by the window. However, neither are visible this early and she slides into a chair in confusion. Something about the angle of the light outside and the hurried distracted look of the passersby indicates it is a busy weekday morning. 

But why is she here when they are not?

She doesn’t wait long for an answer. 

The next customer through the door is the one she is waiting for. As expected, the woman places her order and moves to the table by the window. Liz slouches down and watches from the other side of the shop as she pulls a laptop from her bag to begin some sort of work. It is a little while later that she looks up, stretching her neck, in perfect time with the Admiral entering the shop. There is no way to know that though, as he is not in uniform today, but dressed simply in slacks and a white dress shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary from any of the other occasions she has seen their ritual, except the woman’s reaction is something entirely new. If Liz hadn’t been studying her, knowing that she is the reason for this particular visit, it would have been missed. The casual way she glanced over as the door opened, only to do so again. And then again. How she did not return to her work but seemed aware of his progression through the line and exit from the shop. Liz watched as the woman’s eyes tracked him to the corner and up the block until he left her view. There is the smallest smile and shake of her head, as she focuses once again on the screen before her. 

But Lizzy understands.

This was the beginning of it all.

She too has felt it with the other version of Raymond. That is, when she is inclined to be completely honest about that strange day in the post office. There is something about the spark of instant awareness and immediate attraction that stays, imprints itself on every future interaction in one way or the other. The awareness that can’t be undone. She lowers her head, smiling at this shared secret with a woman she will never meet, and opens them to see Raymond grinning at her.

“Did you find something you like?”

“As a matter of fact I did,” she replies after a moment, inclining her head to match his own.

There it is. The flutter in her belly, the way her body reacts to his gaze that feels like a breath across her skin, as familiar as his touch after all this time. 

“Do you want to add it to my stack?”

“Uh…”

With a glance down, he indicates the book in her hand, which she hadn’t realized she was holding. With a nod, she places it on top of his selections.

“It’s not very long. Do you want a few more?”

“No, I’ll wait. If I like it we can walk over again in a few days.”

He pauses, as if he would have responded, but changes his mind and goes to the register to make the purchase. They haven’t spoken of how long he would remain with her and she realizes it seemed so natural to imagine him here for days and days. 

“Home?” he asks, once they are on the sidewalk again.

“Let’s ramble.”

“You’re overdoing.”

“I probably am, but I need this.”

The distraction of it all. His conversation at lunch carrying them along, making it all too easy to forget for awhile. His hand at her back or her arm linking through his when the heat of the day drains her energy. She continues on, wanting to delay the inevitable, needing a little extra time. Unlike her journey into the life of the Admiral that came in rapid succession, she desperately wants a break in between this series of three.

They eventually find another shop window to gaze through. There is a little of everything within, from antiques to furniture, and she points to a small table that has caught her eye.

“Let’s go in and poke around. Maybe it’s time I get some new things.”

“Lizzy, you were struck by a car yesterday, not to mention the concussion. Shopping isn’t exactly on the _take it easy_ agenda.”

“We’ll go home after this.”

He sighs loudly, but she ignores it and pulls him into the store. After a few minutes, they separate when she goes to investigate the table and he heads off to whatever he has spotted at the rear of the store. Now that he is out of sight, she stops the pretense and finds a chair to rest for a few minutes, thinking the table would look great next to the couch Raymond snuck in or perhaps by her bed. 

The burning of her scar barely registers before she looks up in surprise at the sound of her own voice coming from the front of a lecture hall.

* * *

“Oh, shi—”

Her whisper is lost in the laughter of the students at some joke Liz missed due to her late arrival. She instinctively scrunches down in her seat as in the coffee shop, and hopes like hell she won’t be seen.

“You okay?”

The girl sitting to her right is looking at her strangely, not unlike Red has looked at her these last two days, in all honesty. And then Liz notices it. How everyone is in their warmest winter wear, beanies and scarves to ward off the chill, while she’s there in a sleeveless dress barely to her knees.

“Yes and no,” she tells her and turns back to listen to the lecture already in progress.

“So when I pose the question of how to relate to and understand the criminal mind, it is not so easy as robbing a bank, as Mr. Bailey suggests.” There is a smattering of laughter before the other Elizabeth continues. “Investigators often focus on the _how_ of a crime, but without the _why_ it came to be, we will forever be limited in our scope of understanding.”

“The _why_ is money,” a student calls out.

“What do you know about money?”

“Nothing. That’s why I’m robbing the bank.”

Lizzy laughs along with the rest of the students and watches as the professor lets the banter continue before steering the class back on topic. It is surreal, sending a shiver through her time and again. She feels like she’s watching a video of herself at one of her own graduate lectures. Something else they have in common.

“What college is this?” Lizzy whispers to the girl next to her, who glances over with the same look of alarm. “Look, just humor me, okay.”

“Georgetown.”

“Thanks.”

“You know you look an awful lot like—”

“Yeah I know, believe me,” she mutters, turning back and in a blink she has returned to the store, finding herself in the same chair next to the table she had previously decided to buy. 

Leaning back, she waits for the dizziness to pass, and listens as Raymond charms the shopkeeper with the story of discovering Churchill’s Homburg in a Moroccan flea market.

* * *

“You were right.”

“I know.”

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” Liz scoffs, lightly kicking him in the thigh.

“Okay, what am I right about?”

“I might have overdone it today.”

“There’s no _might_ about it.”

“I know.” 

They had finally arrived back at her row house late in the afternoon and she immediately headed for the couch to lie down. After a hasty walk through of the store, she’d discovered a few more pieces to stash here and there. There must have been something in her expression that prevented Raymond from saying anything more about doing too much. By the time her credit card was handed back, he had already contacted Dembe and Baz to pick them up and bring a van.

It could have waited, should have waited, with the way her head is pounding and the exhaustion that seems here to stay, but it grates on her now, this home that isn’t a home. Her life is a shell of what it once was and if it takes furniture to bring a little normalcy back then so be it. 

As normal as one can be given her present habit of crossing dimensions. A thought that only makes her head swim that much more. 

“I’m too tired to go shopping for a chair so we’ll just have to share,” she had said sleepily, once Dembe and Baz took their leave. Rolling on her side, she drew her legs up making room for him at the end of the couch.

They’ve been here for awhile, with Lizzy just on the edge of dozing off and Raymond engrossed in a book, his feet propped on her new coffee table.

“Don’t let me sleep too late.”

“I’ll wake you when it cools down enough to sit out on the patio.”

“Okay.”

It would have been difficult to imagine them here only days ago with the way they seemed to circle each other, with the remnants of their war with the Cabal pushing them apart. Now it is difficult to picture them anywhere else. It makes her smile when his hand comes to rest on her leg at that moment. She wonders if he is even cognizant of it, or that his thumb is moving across her skin, back and forth, as if reassuring himself that she is still with him. She wonders what she would do about it if she weren’t so battered from the inside out.

She wonders….but she falls asleep before she can work out the answer. 

* * *

He doesn’t let her sleep too long and they sit out in the warm summer night listening to the sounds of the neighborhood, just as they did the previous evening. They throw a light supper together from the supplies Dembe brought, but really they are content to just be. 

Until the prick of her scar comes like a warning.

A sign that her time in between is almost up. One journey left today and the one that has caused the most trepidation. Lizzy is certain it will be into Elizabeth’s home that she will go, just as she did the Admiral’s, but this time it has unsettled her to the core.

He sees the change in her. He must. The way her mood shifts back to the worry evident in her face. The way she strokes the scar, not from an injury, apparently, but something inside that comes and goes, pulling at her. Pulling her away from him. 

It surprises them both when he reaches to take her arm, when he had simply risen to walk with her inside and caught her expression in the light cast from the open doorway. Whatever it is, makes him instinctively hold onto her, until she turns and he brings his other hand up to do the same.

“What’s the matter?” 

But he doesn’t answer. 

She can feel the slightest pressure from his grip, so close to drawing her forward, but it goes again, leaving her to wonder if she dreamed it. Always wondering. There is only his touch that remains, softly reassuring to them both as his hands drift up and down her arms. 

“Sleep well, Lizzy.”

“Goodnight.” She leaves him with a whisper and all the unsaid things between them.

Her bedroom still has the haphazard appearance of one who just moved in. but now the small table that she saw through the window is there and she thinks it’s a beginning at least. She goes to sit on the bed next to it and runs her hand along the surface, taking a breath, attempts to still the trembling that came with the need she saw reflected in Raymond’s eyes. It takes a moment, more than a moment, until she clears her mind and leans over to retrieve the napkin she somehow brought back from the coffee shop in the world where she doesn’t belong. 

The tangible proof that finally made her accept the impossible.

Her fingers trace the logo, a cup and saucer with a curl of steam rising above. She smiles at the simple name printed underneath. _Perk._ Another breath and she places it within the drawer of the table for safekeeping and folds her hands in her lap.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

She’s waiting for the heat when it comes. Ready for when the room around her disappears as she goes to see a life that might have been.


	6. What Might Have Been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

It wasn’t for her. Not ever for her.

It was for Raymond that these strange journeys have been made. His face, his grief, which prompted her words that opened a bridge to another world. The smallest wish, however impossible, that his life could be restored if whatever linked their pasts together had never come to be.

She thought only of him when their anger flared and her scar burned again.

_I wish that I could undo it all._

Because she is so desperately sorry for his pain, for what she has added to his burden.

_Then you would never have known me and all this mess._

For one simple reason.

Because she loves him.

Astonishing that she would have to travel the length of a universe to finally admit it to herself, fully understand what drives him, what made him walk into the FBI and fall to his knees. That’s what love is, after all, being powerless.

As well they both know.

It was his _might have been_ that brought her here. She no longer thinks of her own. The brownstone is gone. The baby she wanted to bring home there went to another family when every truth she once believed in turned to a lie.

But if she could have fathomed their lives untangled from one another, she knows now nothing is as expected, at least in this version of Raymond and Elizabeth, for there must be one where a child could not be saved. The thought causes a shiver to run through her, making her rise from the sofa and walk to the window to look out at the quiet Alexandria street.

She tries not to think of that night and the fire that burned its mark onto her skin. For whatever reason, it is to this reality she has been brought. One where the Admiral doesn’t have the family that her Raymond lost. Where he too has been pulled away from a life on the water he must have once longed for. Where his days are spent in that closed-off world of the Pentagon, not unlike the Post Office, not unlike a prison.

Strange that her thoughts are so full of Raymond when she is here in the other Elizabeth’s home. The place she has dreaded to intrude upon.

And still dreads.

Her steps to the window are the first she has taken since looking up to find herself transported to this row house, different from her own, she realized with relief. The absolute stillness of the place had convinced her of its emptiness, but she remained unmovable as the truth of her feelings could no longer be ignored.

“I take it back.”

Whether she is saying it to herself or the forces that have pulled her away, she has no idea. The only certainty is the ache inside that beats with every breath she is _here,_ echoing across the distance that now separates her from Raymond. From her life in pieces.

Her words make no difference. It seems she cannot undo what has been set into motion. Her scar still sleeps and she remains firmly in this place that is somehow familiar, a feeling that only grows as she resolutely leaves her position at the window. There is nothing that exactly matches her own belongings, yet everything is eerily similar to her own possessions. There are other things, though, that are hauntingly unfamiliar. Mementos from travels that Liz has never made, causing her to sense the wanderlust evident throughout. It stirs something from long ago, matching the drive that took her from Nebraska all the way to Quantico, a feeling that unsettles her without any clear notion of why.

And then it becomes clear.

Liz finds that she is walking through another life in upheaval, certainly not in the same way her own has been so thoroughly disrupted, but an upheaval just the same. This Elizabeth has also recently moved to a new home. There are pictures and art still waiting to be hung on the bare walls. Boxes remain tucked here and there until some future time when they can be sorted through.

It is all a mystery to her as the answer she needs from this place remains elusive. She circles through the rooms, stopping when she reaches the stairs to the second floor just as she did in the Admiral’s home, not wanting to cross that line. It finally catches her eye when she returns to the kitchen. What she has been searching for and there it is, in the bright yellow of an envelope left on the counter. It is empty and her eyes roam the room until she spies the card stuck on the fridge with a magnet. A card that was given on a going away, full of barely legible messages ranging from witty to sarcastic, but with one thought in mind. Best wishes on her departure from the FBI.

Funny how the dizziness comes without warning, strange that what she seeks is here in this small collection Elizabeth arranged so she would see them everyday. Postcards and the lines of a poem, photos of places Liz could not name. Ticket stubs and an advertisement for a concert. A napkin from the coffee shop up the block that is identical to the one she has tucked away. So much of her life is held here in these bits and pieces of the puzzle and it’s then one last picture catches her eye, off to the side, making her gasp. A younger version of herself, flanked on either side by a man and woman who are strangers.

How happy they all looked at what must be Elizabeth’s college graduation.

The card falls to the ground when Liz abruptly steps back, not wanting to see anymore, not able to understand how it was that this Elizabeth was raised by these parents while she was raised by Sam.

It is too much.

It is done.

She retraces her path, arriving back at the window as her scar flashes with a searing heat.

* * *

They are in the same space again, under the same darkened sky. She feels it even before opening her eyes where she stands at her bedroom window.

Already she is in motion, padding softly toward the door, unable to ignore what is pulling her along. Something quite different from what has only this moment brought her back, but something that feels just as mysterious, just as ancient, as impossible as the universe she has crossed to find what she needed.

But there is only one need that matters in the earliest hours of this new day.

The same one that must have alerted him to her soft footsteps on the stairs and her hesitancy when she reaches the sofa that pulls out. She is unsure if he is sleeping until he lifts the covers, just as she did for him the night before, the silent understanding that they’ve crossed some line where it is difficult to sleep without the other nearby.

The streetlights outside cast the room in a soft glow, allowing her to catch the relief that is unmistakable in his eyes. She lies down facing him, having no earthly idea what she will say.

“This is becoming a habit, Lizzy.”

“Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he murmurs when she remains quiet and he reaches out to brush her hair back, wanting to see her. “I wish I knew what you are thinking.”

Because he is almost certain those are tears she blinks away, positive he feels the slightest tremor course from her body as they wait, as if suspended on a breath that neither can draw in.

“I missed you.”

“Since dinner?”

“Well, it seems longer,” she whispers, relaxing a bit. _It seems farther,_ she thinks, remembering the weight of space that held them apart. Fearing every moment she might somehow not return. “I take it back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me.”

She smiles at how earnestly he says it and reaches out, finding his hand in the darkness. “I don’t wish that you had never known me. Even with all that has happened, I could never want that.”

As close as she will come to telling him she loves him, at least for now.

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Among other things.”

“Lizzy, I don’t wish that I had never known you either.”

As close as he will come to saying the same, at least for now.

“I’m glad we’re here,” she murmurs, giving in at last, moving closer until he has rolled back and she is above him. Close enough to see the surprise flash across his expression, but also something else.

Something she has seen a thousand times before he would hide it away. What she knows so well having done the same. God how many times she has wanted him to…

But perhaps she has always known it would have to be her.

Perhaps she has feared tipping the balance until this moment.

Perhaps she should stop thinking and…

Kiss him.

Which she does.

And it feels like a returning, when the universe brings her home. Where there is heat and flame and every part of her is alive again. More so when he responds and lets his hand travel up her back to tangle in her hair.

Everything tilts as it always does, bringing with it that familiar dizzying effect, however she remains in this world, held there in his arms as he rolls her back to deepen the kiss. It causes a moan of pleasure, but there is pain laced into it. He knows her too well and draws back immediately, lessening the pressure of his body.

“Don’t stop.”

“Lizzy.”

He breathes her name out and she takes hold of his undershirt at each side, not letting him go too far.

“Don’t say it, Raymond”

“You know—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupts hurriedly. “You’re going to say I’m not acting like myself and you’ll remind me I was hit by a car. Something I’m not likely to forget, I’d like to point out. And you’ll say something about the state I’m in, and the possibility I’d regret it. I wouldn’t, for your information.”

“Well, you’ve covered most of the talking points nicely,” he says with amusement.

“And you’ll say you don’t want to hurt me.”

He pulls away and she lets him, until he his lying on his side. Another small gasp escapes unbidden when his hand comes to rest at her side, where her body impacted with steel.

“No, I don’t.”

But it isn’t her ribs, battered and bruised, that he is really referring to. It is beyond his description, some fragility that he sees now in the shadows that cross her face.

“If it’s any consolation,” he continues, all too seriously, “this ranks as one of the more difficult choices I’ve had to face.”

It makes her laugh softly and she shifts positions a few times, trying to find one that is remotely comfortable, finally coming to rest curled into his side.

“This is a very nice couch. I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you when you barged in here with it.”

He chuckles softly and she loves the feel of it rumbling through his chest. “I’ll concede I should have asked first.”

“You can make up for it by helping me pick out a dining table tomorrow.”

“Now, the thing about taking it easy is—”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she goes on, already knowing she’ll win the argument.

And he says no more, knowing the same. Another day where they will hide away in this little corner of the city without the FBI or his world intruding is too tempting not to make this time last for as long as possible. He drops a kiss through her hair and draws her a little closer.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers.

It must be finished. She can’t imagine being pulled away again after all that has happened, all that she has gained. She knows now. There are no perfect endings. They’re living proof of that. There is always a cost even for an Admiral that has stayed much too long and a former agent that somehow knew she must leave.

“It is, Lizzy.”

He thinks she is sleeping, she is quiet for so long, that it surprises him when he hears her mumble a few words, almost lost to him in the night.

“I won’t leave again.”

It must be a dream for he has no idea what she could mean and will never know just how wrong she is.


	7. Strange Goings-On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

She’s not sure what woke her.

Perhaps it was the warmth he took with him when he slipped from the sofabed or his quiet movements through her apartment as he crept upstairs to make use of her shower. Her mind wanders for a delightful moment making her smile into the pillow. And not for the first time.

They’ve shared many small spaces during their months on the run. Too many mornings to count when she would stir and hear him puttering about. Those peaceful moments between wake and sleep, letting her imagine them anywhere and not mere steps ahead of the Cabal. When she could imagine them more than what they have been. It was often fleeting, like the remnants of a dream, before their present reality would return, bringing the turmoil with it.

Until today.

For the first time she doesn’t feel the weight of the manhunt or the loss of her former life. This time she wakes to the knowledge that she loves him and lets go of the rest.

At the sound of his steps on the stairs, she opens her eyes just enough to see him walk toward her. “Before you ask, I’m feeling much better.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he returns easily, coming to sit by her and immediately brushes her hair back to study the bruise on her forehead. “It’s going from a deep purple to the greenish stage, so it seems you are well on your way to recovery.”

“That’s just wonderful.” With a sigh, she sits up facing him and can’t quite hide the wince of discomfort from the thousand places on her body that still feel the impact from the car.

“You’ve never looked lovelier.”

“You really must…”

_Love me too._

My god, she had almost said the words out loud, but with the way he is looking at her, it is impossible to say them even in jest. Impossible not to let her mind go a little fuzzy as is becoming a habit where they are concerned.

“I really must what?”

“You really must want me to feel better to say that.”

“In this case, both are equally true.”

“Do you know what else is true?”

“I can’t begin to imagine.”

“I don’t regret kissing you last night, in case you were wondering.”

Because somewhere in the depths of his eyes, if she looked for it, she would find the same worry, the same fear that he holds onto so tightly. What made him hesitate and pull away, using her injuries as the reason.

“Lizzy, you know I’ve seen you in all manner of sleepwear, some quite memorable, I must say.”

“What?” she asks in confusion.

He brings his hand to her side and gives the material of her dress a slight tug. “When did you begin sleeping fully dressed?”

_When I began slipping into an alternate reality._

She can’t imagine what his reaction would be at hearing that remarkable statement. He would only grow more concerned about her condition and use it as another barrier to keep her at a distance. A distance that is shrinking moment by moment as she takes hold of his shirt to pull him forward.

“That’s a clever way of changing the subject.”

“That’s not an answer, Lizzy”

“No it’s not,” she whispers, knowing it will have to suffice. “You don’t regret it either.”

“I don’t suppose you want me to go into the repercussions of trauma and head injuries, not to mention making major life decisions in such a state.”

“Let’s skip all that.” She can’t hide her smile at, for once, being able to read him like a book. She also can’t resist throwing him as off kilter as she has been. “Honestly, the only surprising thing is that it has taken this long. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t been kidnapped at the gas station.”

How she loves the surprise that flashes across his face, the seconds ticking by as he can’t help but contemplate that very tantalizing image of them. Eventually he clears his throat, vying for a measure of control.

“Please don’t remind me of that mishap.”

“But there’s also the mishap of my arrest, yet here we are making up for lost time.”

“Lizzy,” he breathes out softly as she pulls his shirt again, wanting him to follow.

“Tell you what, how about we make a deal,” she finally relents. “We’ll continue this discussion after I’ve sufficiently recovered.”

“And if you later change your mind about that—”

“I won’t, but then you’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose. In the meantime, I’m going to take a shower, that is, if you’ve left me any hot water.”

He laughs softly and rises to let her do the same, enjoying the way she brushes past a little closer than necessary, with that delightful glint in her eyes. At the last second and quite without thought, he catches her hand, waiting for her to turn back. Which she does.

“I don’t regret it,” he murmurs at the question in her eyes.

“I know.”

She leaves him with a dazzling smile and it is many minutes later the sound of the shower turning on breaks into his thoughts. And sends them reeling with all that has happened

* * *

It doesn’t cross her mind, so certain is she that whatever strange goings-on there were, they have certainly ceased with her final glimpse into that other world. With the knowledge that it does no good to want to change the past. They are here now and able to chart their future from this new beginning.

He’s left his shaving kit on her bathroom counter and she runs her fingers across the items wondering how long he will stay. Already she can’t imagine him anywhere but here and there is a whisper of a smile as she gets lost in thought once again.

Until she focuses on her reflection.

“My god.”

_Lovely_ isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind. How long it will take for her appearance not to shock the system she has no idea. Her eyes go to the bruise stretching across her forehead which does indeed seem more green than purple this morning. With a sigh and a reminder that it has only been a few days since the accident, she throws her clothes in a pile and retreats to the shower.

Her mind is on the day ahead as she digs through her closet, looking for anything other than her FBI wardrobe, finding another loose dress at the very back. She is envisioning a leisurely breakfast followed by a stroll around the neighborhood in search of a dining table. Summer is fading fast and they will need a place to eat indoors. Later, he will say she is still doing too much and they’ll come home for her to rest awhile as they did the day before. A quiet afternoon where they can—

The pain is searing.

And brief.

No time to utter a word, only a gasp of surprise before she is dropped unceremoniously into the coffee shop.

“For god’s sake, what now?”

But if she is expecting an answer it is not forthcoming. If she thought she had gained some understanding of whatever is happening to her, she soon realizes she was dead wrong.

The comings and goings are too fast. The same thing over and over, not in the usual cycle of three but something else entirely. Something that feels like a whirlwind and she loses track of herself, of the world and everything in it. There is only the Admiral and Elizabeth locked within the ritual of their making. The glance as he adjusts the coffee lid. Her eyes following him outside until he disappears into the crowd.

Over and over.

And over again.

It is all a blur as she takes in the scene from across the shop, or from the sidewalk outside, across the street, back inside the shop. A seemingly never-ending cycle.

Until she can stand it no more.

Until she’d rather scream the place down to make it stop, but something within won’t let her, some sense that Elizabeth might not do well with seeing herself losing control on the other side of the shop.

“Stop!”

“Uh, I wasn’t…”

She glances to the side at a college student who seems to be the only one that heard her whispered exclamation. “Not you, sorry.”

“Do you need some help?”

The Admiral enters the shop just then and she decides one simple thing. She has had enough and takes a seat across from the very surprised student.

“What I need is a pen and paper.” He looks honestly dumbfounded and she goes on in a rush, “Come on, you’re a third year law student, surely you must have—”

“How did you—”

“School ID.” She points to the ID barely visible in his laptop bag. “You also have a law review journal in there and a practice bar exam pulled up on screen.”

“Whoa,” he whispers, still not moving to retrieve the requested items. “You know you’re not wearing shoes don’t you?”

“I absolutely do know that.” She takes a breath to stem her impatience while checking the Admiral’s progression in the line. “Pen and paper.”

He produces the pen and she decides not to wait, taking a napkin instead, and scribbles the first thing that comes to mind.

_Talk to her._

“Tell me something, Third Year,” she says thoughtfully, reading the words once more before folding the napkin in two. “You think the universe will implode if I...”

His surprise is turning to alarm so she leaves the question unasked. It doesn’t matter. She has the fleeting notion that she and Raymond have caused Dembe no end of frustration if her current state of annoyance is anything to go by and it’s all she can do not to laugh hysterically at the thought.

“Nevermind. Hey, good luck on your test.”

“Thanks.”

And before she can talk herself out of it and contemplate the ramifications of interfering in the fates of these two hapless people, she makes a brush pass the Admiral never sees coming. He can’t be blamed for not noticing the barefoot blond that slipped a note into his pocket. How could he when he was distracted by the brunette by the window.

Lizzy continues out of the shop muttering darkly with every step, “My next stop better be home or I swear to—”

She plops down on her bed an instant later and immediately lays back until the spinning goes away.

“Well, if you didn’t want me to do something about it, you should have left me alone.”

The universe seems to have no argument to make and her scar is sleeping once again.

For now.

* * *

She hasn’t moved from her spot on the bed other than to throw her arm across her eyes to block out the light. It doesn’t make any sense, not that anything does at the moment. She was so certain it was over, convinced she had learned what was meant for her.

To let go of regret.

To not wish to undo their histories.

To move forward with their lives, in whatever way that may be.

Perhaps she simply wanted to believe it was over and done with, but clearly it is not. More importantly, she has interfered in their world and there is no way of knowing how that will play out.

But surely one nudge in the right direction can’t cause any real harm.

_The right direction._

As if there is any other direction than the one that sets Raymond and Elizabeth on the same path. In whatever world that may be.

There is a soft knock on her door and a moment later she hears him call. “Lizzy, you’ve been up here for awhile. Everything alright?”

“I have no idea,” she answers, too softly for him to hear.

“I’m coming in, Lizzy.”

She turns her head to peek at him from under her arm. “I’m fine, just taking a breather. I’m ready to go now.”

“Okay.” He seems a little dubious but walks to the side of the bed to hold out a hand toward her. “If you’re sure.”

She lets him pull her up but remains standing there, holding his arms to steady herself. Finding it all too easy to lose herself in his gaze, wondering about the path they’ve chosen and how it all came to be.

“Do you believe in fate?”

‘Uh, in a metaphysical sense or—”

“In the basic sense.”

“Well, I’ve never given it much thought.”

“Nevermind,” she says, with a shake of her head. “Let’s go get breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Yes.”

She moves to step back but finds his hands at her sides, willing her to stay, as he studies her.

“What is it?”

“Yes, I believe in fate, although I haven’t the slightest idea why and up until this moment I’m fairly certain the answer would have been _no_.”

It’s grown so still as the seconds tick by, she wonders how she can’t hear her heartbeat. Or his. “Maybe it’s only where we’re concerned.”

“I think you must be right, Lizzy.”

When she would have moved back, she now goes forward, until his arms circle round and hers do the same. A breath later, she mumbles into his chest, “Thank you.”

“For what?” A whisper into her hair that makes her hold on tighter.

“For not being logical.”

“I rarely am in these moments.”

“Good.”

His soft laughter makes her smile and she loves him that much more.


	8. A Simple Twist of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

There is always the shock of it, even now, days later. The flash of pain is startling as her scar comes to life and the sense of falling away from the world around her. A fleeting thought that at least it waited until after they finished breakfast follows Liz to the coffee shop.

And a sigh follows after that.

It shouldn’t be surprising. She was waiting for this, even more so after she interceded in this other reality, something she has instinctively avoided doing with every crossing over.

Until she lost her patience.

Until she wrote the note.

_Talk to her._

Until it was all she could do not to go to them, urge them to stop wasting these moments. To take a chance before there are no more chances to take. But she and Raymond are no different than the Admiral and Elizabeth. So many wasted opportunities lie in their wake.

Didn’t it take almost losing their lives for her to realize which life it is that is worth saving?

“Yes,” she whispers on a breath, leaning a little further to the right to better see the woman by the window.

There is nothing different about the scene, nothing out of the ordinary except the certainty that nothing will ever be the same again. This must be the turning point, the one she brought about when she impulsively slipped the note into the Admiral’s pocket. He will have discovered it by now, along with the revelation that someone has discovered his secret.

A smile plays across her features as she watches the comings and goings from the shop, much the same as Elizabeth is doing as she types away on her laptop. The knot of apprehension inside begins to lessen. This must be a good sign, that she has been brought here again. That her interference wasn’t a mistake or could possibly lead to some kind of interdimensional catastrophe.

The anticipation is unmistakable and perhaps this will be the end of it. A witness to their beginning and that is all. That will be enough.

But with every customer that enters and exits, it is becoming obvious the Admiral won’t be among them.

“Absolutely unbelievable.”

No one hears her mutter darkly or see the roll of her eyes before they find the woman by the window and watch as she lingers a moment. The check of the time on her phone and a glance outside before her belongings are packed away and she leaves for a morning class.

No, not really so unbelievable, Lizzy thinks. There are enough similarities between these two Raymonds that she realizes this break in his routine is a tactical retreat. There are most certainly days their paths do not cross owing to the obligations of his rank and title or Elizabeth’s work or travels.

Not today, however. Today’s absence was made by choice.

Her Raymond would do the same. He would not be pleased with a cryptic note dropped into his pocket without his knowledge. She can already picture it and the expression that would cause most to halt in their tracks. At any other moment it might make her laugh and she almost does but for the heat of her scar suddenly pulling her into darkness.

The brightness of the sunlight is her first clue she has immediately returned, outside this time, sitting at one of the tables on the sidewalk. Another vantage point where she can watch the scene unfold and there is hardly time to think before he passes within inches of her to enter the shop.

Her sharp intake of breath is lost in the noise of the city.

Then silence.

She leans forward, peering in the window to the Admiral that has taken his place in line, then to Elizabeth seated at her usual table on the far side of the shop, and back again. He’s in uniform today, every barrier in place. When he looks around, there is another gasp as Lizzy recognizes the expression she had only moments before imagined would be firmly in place. Brooding, searching, attempting to find the writer of the note, rather than take its advice.

The writer who is at this moment attempting to evade discovery by crouching as low as possible in her seat while still being able to see inside.

“Come on, you two,” she urges softly, hoping this time will be different.

Perhaps this time he will take the chance.

Or Elizabeth will meet his gaze, just this once, when he steals a glance.

“Come on.”

Closer now, only a second or two until he takes his order and walks toward the door. He doesn’t stop with the pretense of adjusting the lid, pays no more attention to anyone in the shop, least of all the woman by the window. Nothing out of the ordinary at all as he exits and walks up the block. Elizabeth watches his progress and if there is the smallest disappointment that another day has passed them by, she keeps it to herself.

Only Lizzy sees the shadow that crosses her face. Only she could see the falter of his step as he made the turn at the counter, the desire that must be there to change course and walk to the woman by the window.

But not today.

Lizzy leans forward, placing her elbows on the table, and rests her head in her hands, willing the headache away she can already feel forming.

“Idiots.”

“Lizzy, is there anyone in particular you’re talking about or simply referring to us trying to decide on this dining table?”

She looks up to see Raymond grinning at her and in all honesty there’s only one answer to give.

“Both.”

* * *

“Well, what do you think?”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she mumbles as they leave the store, attempting to focus on _here_ and not _there_ , now that she is _here_ again.

The headache has progressed to a dull ache and she hates to admit he is right about her doing too much. Breakfast, followed by a ramble around the neighborhood and several furniture stores later on her hunt for a dining table, plus a few trips across the universe and Lizzy will admit she’s exhausted.

“There’s really no need to rush.”

“I think I like the first one best.”

“I do too although you seemed afraid of the commitment.”

She gives him a nudge in the shoulder which makes him chuckle, then slips her arm through his. “On the contrary, I know exactly what I want.”

He is the recipient of a rather pointed look and they continue on, backtracking a few blocks until they arrive at the first store. It takes only a few minutes for her to make the purchase and they are outside again. Perhaps it is the brightness of the day or the jumble of her thoughts, but she doesn’t realize they are so near the coffee shop until Raymond points its way.

“Lizzy, how about tea or something iced?”

She can only nod, more than a little distracted, and within a minute finds herself back inside the shop she can’t seem to escape.

It must be fate.

All of it.

The table by the window is empty as if waiting for her, and after telling him what she would like, leaves the line to take Elizabeth’s seat. The sense of deja vu is dizzying, but also there is something new. This is where she does her morning work before the first lecture. This is where the Admiral caught her eye and became a part of her days.

Lizzy watches Raymond’s progression through the line and then looks out the window, following the path the Admiral takes until he is out of sight.

And she begins to wonder.

“I have a question,” she says, when he joins her a few minutes later. “A hypothetical one.”

“Let's have it.”

But where to begin and she takes a sip before continuing. “Would you have noticed me?”

“That is a rather cryptic hypothetical question.”

“If we had never met and you hadn’t requested me by name forcing the FBI to pick me up at my home in a helicopter to usher me to a blacksite, where we were never really formally introduced now that I think about it, but regardless, would you have noticed me?”

“Well, I….”

He’s a little taken aback and she leans forward, needing to know. “If I were sitting here and you came in, if we didn’t know each other?”

“Yes.”

“And it was just by chance and—”

“Yes, Lizzy, I would notice you.”

There’s such an earnestness in his quiet words, it makes her stop. It would be enough. Here, in this world, it is more than enough.

But she needs to know for the other world.

“Would you come to talk to me?”

His hesitation is her answer.

As is the almost imperceptible shake of his head.

She won’t say why. There is no need. They could both list the reasons the two of them shouldn’t make any sense. Why it would be easier to let the chance go by.

Her hand comes to rest over his, where his fingers have been silently tapping against the table. Her touch stills the nervous movement in an instant.

“Then I suppose I would have to be the one to make the first move.”

Perhaps it must always be so, in every possible version of themselves.

She will think about that later. What she must do and how on earth she will bring it about. For now there is only the pressure of his hand and the smile that followed her words. The trace of her thumb across his skin as they hold on, not letting go.

* * *

The prick of her scar comes as the first warning.

It is either very late or much too early, but she has been lying awake waiting. Raymond has long since dropped off to sleep and she smiles into the darkness, replaying the evening in her mind. Another furniture delivery from Dembe and Baz and then their first dinner inside at her new table. At this place that finally feels like home.

“So are we sleeping upstairs or downstairs?” she asked a little while later.

His sigh was unmistakable.

“Your virtue is quite safe, Reddington. We have a deal after all," she continued, reminding him she is well aware they will stick to the status quo until she is healed. A plan that is altogether sensible and most annoyingly frustrating.

“Not too safe, I hope.”

He had pulled her close and never before can she recall being kissed senseless in the kitchen.

“Let me know what you decide,” she whispered, quite out of breath, as she left to walk upstairs.

It’s been hours now since he joined her and they talked until he fell asleep.

“Lizzy, I forgot to mention earlier that Dembe has had a call from Harold.”

“What about?” she asked casually from the next pillow over, trying to read his expression in the darkened room.

“To ascertain when you would be rejoining the task force and when I might be providing a blacklister.”

“Why didn’t he call me?”

“He did, but it seems you haven’t gotten back to him.”

She could almost see his amused smirk at the situation. She also couldn't remember the last time she had checked her phone for messages.

“I think I prefer this side of the Potomac. I’m not ready to cross back over.”

“There is no rush, Lizzy,” he reminded her, reaching to draw her closer.

They had talked of other things, plans for the following day. Perhaps a walk to one of the parks near the river as they familiarize themselves with the area. He drifted off when she grew quiet and she waited, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

A second prick of the scar urges her to slip quietly from the bed.

Everything is ready when she enters her closet and closes the door to turn on the light. She changes into the jeans and top she had chosen earlier, wincing slightly as her ribs protest the hurried movements. Her bag is there containing everything she hopes she will need. One of Raymond’s ball caps that she has borrowed for the occasion along with the largest pair of sunglasses she owns.

And a folded piece of paper with a message for Elizabeth.

_Talk to him. It must be you._

Another twist of fate. Only a small one and hopefully the last she will make. The rest will be up to them and it will be time to let them go.

The burning of her scar makes her gasp and, in the blink of an eye, she is gone.


	9. Outer Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always want to say a big Thank You for the comments and for reading.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Liz grumbles to no one in particular, except the universe that does enjoy making things difficult for her.

It was all planned out.

She knows the layout by heart.

How could she not, after all the times she’s been yanked out of her life and dropped unceremoniously into the coffee shop.

With all of its nooks and corners, comfy chairs and tables scattered round, the large counter dividing the space in two, there are plenty of places to choose for concealment. Numerous ways to skirt the periphery until she could make her way near to Elizabeth, drop the note in her bag, and get the hell away without causing some sort of psychological trauma. No need in the professor coming face to face with her double.

“Dammit.”

And now there’s nothing to do but continue walking down the crowded sidewalk where she has been deposited.

Just in time to see Elizabeth exit the shop and turn the corner.

She lets the distance grow as her training takes over, eventually crossing the street so she can follow at an angle to keep her in view. That is, until Elizabeth crosses onto her side. It seems you can take the profiler out of the FBI but not the agent from the professor. Liz watches curiously as she uses her training to avoid a tail like some built-in tradecraft that has remained with her even after leaving the bureau.

Would she be any different? It is so ingrained now, she doubts she could walk down a city block in a straight line. Recalling the zig-zag nature of her and Raymond’s ramble through the neighborhood makes her smile before she ducks behind a display of used books as Elizabeth stops at a corner, looking both ways before crossing again.

On they go with Liz pulling the ball cap lower and slipping on the sunglasses. “You’re a real pain in the….ooph!”

Her opinion on whatever is controlling all of this is cut off as she detangles herself from a dog leash and offers an apology to a happy little cocker spaniel along with its rather annoyed owner before diving behind a car. Never could she have imagined she’d have to tail herself or how difficult that would be. There’s only one thing she can think to do and it’s going to hurt like hell.

She’s going to make a run for it.

Her steps increase their speed as she focuses on her mark, glancing briefly toward the traffic signal and calculating the distance to the corner.

“A little help would be nice here.” Each word comes out in a gasp, when the pain in her injured body erupts with every movement.

The timing is perfect.

Whether it is by some intervention or merely happenstance, she doesn’t know or care. A change of the light stops Elizabeth at the corner, who pays little notice to the blonde who jogs past into the crosswalk as the yellow turns to red, except to wonder why she’d risk getting hit by a car.

The traffic separates them, allowing Liz to move ahead, already guessing the professor’s destination, and is waiting across the street when she catches up. It’s the perfect spot to see her reach into her bag for a metro card and slowly draw out the note instead.

“No, wait. Wait!”

The heat is rising in her scar and she gives her wrist a shake, watching as the paper is slowly unfolded. Sees the confusion that crosses Elizabeth’s face as she reads and rereads the message.

_Talk to him. It must be you_.

It takes only a few seconds before the realization dawns and she whirls around in the direction of the coffee shop.

“That’ll give you something to think about,” Liz laughs softly, before finding herself jostled by a passing pedestrian.

When she regains her balance and turns back toward the recipient of the note, it is her rather messy closet that greets her.

“Thanks for the warning,” she mutters and begins changing back to her sleep clothes, all the while hoping this little interference does the trick. She’s also hoping she can slip quietly back into bed with Raymond being no more the wiser.

“Lizzy, what’s wrong?” he asks sleepily.

With a sigh, her hand rubs his arm a moment. “Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“I was running.” The exhaustion is quickly taking over, now that she is lying down, causing her thoughts to go a little fuzzy.

Raymond, on the other hand, is suddenly wide awake. “You were what?”

“It’s alright. I’m going to sleep now.”

”You mean you’ve been out running?” He stretches up to check the time on her bedside clock before continuing rather incredulously. “It’s past three in the morning! Besides the fact you’ve been injured.”

“It’s okay. I think this will work.”

He thinks she must be dreaming.

Or perhaps he is when she turns to her other side and reaches back, finding his hand and pulling his arm across to wrap around her body. She doesn’t stir when he draws the cover up around them or when his fingers travel down her arm to her wrist. It isn’t the scar, cool to the touch, that he seeks, but the thrill of her pulse. He waits until it returns to a steady pace as her breathing slows with sleep, before closing his eyes again.

* * *

“Does this mean you’re going to make a habit of taking a midnight run?”

Lizzy looks up in confusion from the waffle she is currently devouring. “What are you talking about?”

“Am I allowed to say I’m concerned and would like you to be careful?”

It takes a second as the hazy memory of their conversation comes back, when her exhausted brain had spoken truthfully about running, but there is no way she can elaborate with the details of tailing a former FBI agent turned professor in an alternate reality. Her dive behind the car to avoid detection added a few more bruises to those already scattered across her body. Every muscle that has objected to every movement since she walked into the street and collided with a car only objected that much louder this morning when she rolled out of bed with a groan.

She feels remarkably worse.

And it was worth every single ache and pain.

“Yes, Raymond, you’re allowed.” With a smile, she cuts a large piece of waffle, taking care to add a strawberry, and a blueberry or two before covering it with a dollop of whipped cream, and drops it onto his plate. “Try that. It’s nothing short of spectacular.”

“Lizzy—”

“If you’re not going to eat it, give it back.”

“I will admit, it doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.” He sighs a little and begins to cut the offering into a more manageable bite-sized piece. “You seem different somehow.”

She doesn’t comment except for a quiet _told you_ when he nods in appreciation of the waffle. There is no need to worry him and as there really is no new damage from her last crossing over, she lets it go. He isn’t completely wrong, after all. It is the anticipation that he has noticed and if only there was a way to explain the reason for it.

Because now they know. Both of them. The Admiral with little time for a life apart from the rigors of his command. The Professor who stepped away from her career with the bureau and chose a different way.

And still their paths crossed.

Now there is the knowledge that their awareness for the other has not gone unnoticed by a third party. A very mysterious third party and Lizzy smiles to herself, feeling quite proud to have brought it about. If the Admiral continues to hesitate then she feels certain Elizabeth will take the initiative. Everything is right there waiting for them, they just needed this little nudge.

Or a shove.

Much like the one she and Raymond experienced in their months of peril, running from the Cabal. However it came about, they have endured. She reaches across the table, waiting until he realizes her intent, and places his hand in hers.

“I’m excited.”

“About the waffle?”

“Yes,” she laughs, with a roll of her eyes. “Also for the day ahead, and the one after that. I’m not sure I’ve ever really appreciated the feeling before now.”

“Then we should get going. It’s a bit of a walk to the park.”

“And no,” she adds, once they are on the sidewalk heading east. “I don’t plan to make running in the middle of the night a habit.”

“That’s a relief, I don’t mind telling you.”

It’s a rather enjoyable look he throws her way, very much full of things to come, causing her to pick up her pace as the suspense spurs her on. For the first time, she is impatient for the heat of her scar that will take her from this place, allow her one more glimpse of Elizabeth and the Admiral. Perhaps then she can concentrate on all the happenings in her own world.

They walk with no clear plan other than to stop when they reach the Potomac. It isn’t long until they arrive at a park bordering it’s banks and take a northerly turn.

“Lizzy, what made you choose Alexandria? It’s a fair distance from the Post Office.”

“I wanted something as far from the brownstone as possible,” she replies with blunt honesty. “I stayed here for a week or so, in a motel at the edge of town. It was the closest I came to deciding to rent an apartment, before other things….interfered.”

“Yet you’ve made it back.”

“Not quite like I left it.”

“There are measures that can be taken to ensure the return of your badge and status as agent.” He stops to look at her, the same concern, the same pain for the loss of her former life marring his expression.

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Slipping her arms around his side, she turns her face up to the sun.

It is difficult to imagine the dark damp coldness of the Post Office on this late summer day. Perhaps that is why she placed a massive river in between herself and the box where she almost died, when she was searching for a home to begin again.

“What were you talking about?”

Not at all like they left it. Far from it.

“Us." It is there when she returns his gaze, the wonder of it all.

Now they are here together. Now she loves him. Now everything is different.

The sting of her scar interrupts and there is only time to brush her lips against his, wanting more, wanting so much more.

But she needs to see them again.

Glancing around, the plan forms quickly in her mind. “Hey, you want to buy me a slushie while I go snag that bench under the trees over there?”

“Any particular flavor,” he asks with a smile, and a hint of the frustration they both share.

“Anything but grapefruit.”

The smile turns to a chuckle as he walks away and she watches him go for a moment before hurrying to the bench.

“Okay, make this quick.”

The determination in her voice leaves no room for argument. A second later, everything falls away and she arrives at the coffee shop, only to realize the Admiral and Elizabeth are more stubborn than even she and Raymond.

* * *

The shop is just as busy, just as lively as all the other times Lizzy has come to observe. She feels the difference immediately. They are not here. The table at the window is empty as if it too is waiting for the professor. Every patron that enters is a stranger, mocking her certainty that she would arrive to observe their first meeting.

As well they both would know.

Damn it all.

“I should have known.”

“Excuse me?”

Lizzy glances over at a runner who has chosen the shop to cool down, and shrugs her shoulders. “I should have known. I did sort of put them on the spot.”

The runner glances behind and back again. “Are you okay?”

“They would feel like they were being watched here,” she muses. “Now I’ve really mucked it up and if neither one comes back…”

The woman’s utter confusion is the last thing Lizzy sees before the darkness comes with the flash of pain. With a spin, she blinks from the brightness of the sun in her eyes, eventually realizing she has returned to the park and attempts to find her place in it. There is no sign of Raymond, or the slushie cart. No sign of their bench.

“This isn’t where you picked me up,” she mutters toward the sky overhead.

The park is crowded now and she walks for several minutes, looking for anything familiar, quickening her pace with the thought of Raymond arriving at the bench to find that she has disappeared. Faster still when she sees him up ahead, recognizing his profile as he leans against the railing looking toward the water.

“Raymond.”

He straightens at hearing his name, turns in the direction of her voice, but will never hear her gasp. A second sooner and he would have met her eye, wondered at seeing her there, so different in appearance from the image in his mind. The lovely woman by the window that has become a part of his days.

He will think it the wind or a trick of his mind and turn again to the water, never noticing the woman retreating in the opposite direction.

“Don’t look back.”

Lizzy repeats the words over and over, fairly certain she moved in time, wanting only to put some distance between herself and the Admiral.

She realized just as she called to him. They are both wearing blue today, only slightly different shades, but that wasn’t what she noticed. It is the formality with which this Raymond holds himself even out of uniform, something completely different than the relaxed and often sardonic manner of the other version she knows so well.

Her steps take her down several paths, this way and that, until she reaches a safe distance. Until her racing heart begins to slow and she can think of what to do.

Until she collides head on with Elizabeth.

* * *

“Don’t look back.”

Lizzy had turned so quickly, some instinct from deep within keeping her in motion as she made a hasty apology and ducked her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain to shield her face.

“It’s fine.”

Elizabeth was looking the other way. It’s fine.

“Don’t look back.”

She loses herself in the crowd, sprinting ahead, as the pain jars the breath from her body. Only when she is certain she is nowhere near the Admiral or Elizabeth does she stop, unable to prevent herself from doubling over.

_Unbelievable._

They’re practically tripping over one another in this damn neighborhood and still can’t manage something as basic as an introduction.

“Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Lizzy?”

She’s not even surprised when she looks up to see Raymond watching her, appearing very puzzled as he often does these last few days.

“I could really use that slushie.”

His eyes narrow a moment and he deposits the drinks on the bench before stepping around to the back where she is inexplicably standing. “Did you hurt yourself again?”

“A little.”

“Don’t tell me you were running.” He waits a second for emphasis before continuing. “Again?”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“Lizzy, you cannot-”

“Raymond,” she interrupts, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him around to the front of the bench so she can sit rather than topple over. “You’re allowed to be concerned and even to gripe at me a little.”

His mouth draws into a thin line and hands her the slushie instead of responding.

“But only a little.” She gives him a dazzling smile, that doesn’t quite hide her discomfort, and takes a sip. And a deep breath or two. “Lemon was a good choice.”

“Not as sour as grapefruit but with just enough tartness to make it interesting.”

She laughs, not missing his meaning or the smile he can’t keep away at the shared memory. “I have a hypothetical question.”

“Another one?”

“How do you feel about blind dates?”

The smile disappears in an instant, leaving him looking somewhat stricken at the thought.

“That bad?”

“A more harrowing evening I cannot recall.”

“That is a story I definitely want to hear, but what if,” she pauses, letting the idea take shape in her mind. “What if it were me?”

“I’m not following.”

“Well, if you knew you’d be meeting me, would you go?”

“I don’t think that is technically the definition of a blind date.”

“Raymond.”

He chuckles at the warning in her tone and takes her hand before relaxing back. “Yes, I think it safe to say I would have enjoyed meeting you under any number of circumstances that didn’t involve the FBI.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” she returns quietly. “But given where we are, I wouldn’t undo any of it.”

She’s not sure if he will ever agree with that sentiment and doesn’t wait for the lessening of his regret, but instead, scoots closer to lean into his side.

“Lizzy, what are you plotting?”

“At the moment, nothing more than this.”

“Cheers to that.”

She taps her cup with his and they watch the world go by, from their bench under the trees.


	10. The Long And Winding Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos along the way. They are all greatly appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ending!

“You can’t sneak up on me.” Lizzy smiles at the soft laugh that follows and waits as it grows closer to where she is reclining on her patio. “But you can share my chair.”

Raymond opts for the chair on which her feet are propped, lifting them a moment to sit before letting them rest on his thigh. 

“I thought perhaps you were taking another nap.”

The amusement in his voice is hard to miss even with her eyes closed. “I’m relaxed. This is me, relaxed.”

“It’s about time.”

“Yeah.”

Three full days of relaxation and recuperation and her body has stopped its protest at her every move. The bruises have faded enough that if she squints a little at her reflection in the mirror, she could almost imagine things are back to normal.

Apart from her scar.

And the notes she has tucked safely into a pocket.

Waiting for the heat and flame to come for her.

The universe must have known. There is no other explanation for its silence. It must have realized she needed to recover and to plan her next step. It wasn’t over, she was sure of it, even as one day led to another and then to another. Whatever is suspending her between these two worlds hasn’t finished with her yet because she hasn’t finished with the Admiral and Elizabeth.

“Not to be the bearer of bad news…”

“Don’t say it.” She already knows what it will be and almost mouths the words when he finally replies.

“I’ve gotten another call from Harold.”

Her eyes open just enough to throw a glare his way. “Can you please explain why he insists on calling you in regards to _my_ job, Reddington.”

“Lizzy, do you or do you not know the current whereabouts of your phone?”

“That’s not the point. And don’t chuckle at me,” she mutters when he chuckles at her. “What did he want?”

“The same as last time. A status report on our return to the task force.” 

“Our?”

“Not to sound presumptuous, but we are a package deal, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

She gives his thigh a little tap with her foot. “Feel free to presume.”

His fingers drumming against her leg is the only answer she receives until she finally prompts him to continue. “Well, what did you tell him?”

“That the decision rests with you.”

Except she doesn’t want the spell broken, doesn’t want to give up their peaceful rambles through the neighborhood or the illusion their lives could be normal if only they stay on this side of the river away from the FBI and criminal underworld.

She’s not ready to cross back over.

Something she had told him days ago and days later not much has changed.

“In the meantime,” he continues, as if reading her thoughts. “What if we go for a drive?”

“Where? To the beach?”

“I was thinking west.”

“The mountains?”

“Or a little further.”

He has that look about him, the one that has always been a mystery to her and one she has never ceased to want to solve. Until now.

She already has the answer.

“West Virginia?” Lizzy asks, playing along. 

“Perhaps a bit further.”

“Raymond, are you asking me to go to….Ohio with you?”

It makes him laugh and his thumb tracks across the sensitive skin of her ankle, sending a lovely thrill up her leg.

“There was something I noticed, Lizzy, from our time on the road,” he replies thoughtfully. “How you always drifted west when it was your turn to drive, as if you had decided to leave, but then changed your mind.”

Her surprise is evident. He had never questioned her meandering path those long nights when she was behind the wheel and he slumbered beside her. All this time she thought it was her secret, a momentary weakness to give up the fight, but she should have known. He understands her more than anyone else.

“You never said anything.”

“Because the decision rests with you,” he repeats quietly. “I’ve often wondered where we might have ended up had you chosen to keep going.”

“I suppose we’d have stopped at the Pacific.”

“Or simply taken another turn.”

“Raymond, what are you suggesting?”

“That we take a little drive, now that the cabal and FBI aren’t hot on our trail.”

She settles back, letting the plan unfold in her mind. “What comes after Ohio?”

“Indiana.”

“You’re losing me.”

“I believe Kansas would be next.” His amusement returns just as that little crinkle he adores forms on her brow.

“You’ve lost me completely.”

“May I propose a more southerly route?”

“Florida?”

“Lizzy, please don’t joke at a time like this.”

“So don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I was thinking of New Orleans. It will still be summer there, well into fall. We could enjoy a few balmy nights filled with jazz and spice in the air. Might be just the thing before continuing westward.”

The image is intoxicating, relaxing her features once again. “Then it will be my turn to choose the next destination.”

“Indeed it will.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since the first morning I woke and realized we were a hundred miles off course and guessed the reason why.”

“I wish you had said something.”

“It wasn’t the right time,” he replies with a small shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose it’s a good thing neither of us seem inclined to return to work at present.”

“And that we love each other.” Her words linger between them, waiting for their impact.

He goes perfectly still, lessening the pressure of his hand until he is barely touching her, as if he is also held suspended between two worlds. A breath later he comes back to her, his hand resting again on her leg. 

“That isn’t a good thing, Lizzy. That is the very best of things.”

“Yes,” she murmurs, returning his smile.

She had wondered how to tell him and if he would ever find the words, but it doesn’t matter. It is simply there in the space around them, regardless of what world they may inhabit. Hers or his or somewhere altogether new.

For now there is only a road, winding toward the horizon, and an ocean waiting for them at the end.

For now, that is more than enough.

“Lizzy—”

She sits up so quickly her feet slip off their resting spot with a thud, and it’s all she can do not to topple forward. “Raymond, hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Everything is wonderful.” The tingling of her scar won’t allow for anything more than a quick pat on his knee before rushing toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to find my shoes,” she calls over her shoulder. “And my phone.”

She rushes to her bedroom, slipping into her shoes and grabbing the bag she had previously used. The one containing Raymond’s ball cap and a pair of sunglasses, a scarf if she should need further concealment, everything she will need, as well as the two pieces of paper folded carefully within her pocket.

“Your timing is impeccable as usual,” she mumbles, trying to catch her breath and slow her racing heart. 

But this is it.

Her last chance and perhaps it is theirs too.

She crosses her fingers for luck and disappears into the void.

* * *

The plan had formed quickly, days ago when they walked to the park along the river. When she discovered the Admiral and Elizabeth weren’t ready for an introduction within the confines of the coffee shop with their mystery note writer looking on. Lizzy had realized it too late, saw their hesitancy after delivering the messages to talk to the other. Something so simple, but some lines can seem impossible to cross. Something she knows very well.

But there in the park, sitting with Raymond on their bench, the idea had come to her quite easily. A blind date of sorts and the perfect location to bring it about, far from any prying eyes. She had written the notes that same evening, carrying them with her every day since, until she would return to the starting point.

The coffee shop.

It must be there. The profiler in her doesn’t doubt their curiosity will continue to draw them back to the shop. That they are also drawn to one another is perfectly obvious and the time has come for them to acknowledge it.

The smell of freshly roasted espresso beans hits her even before her eyes open to the crowded establishment and she takes a second to slip the cap on to covertly survey the scene. The Admiral is not yet in line so the decision is made. Elizabeth will be the first target.

Taking a breath and moving on pure instinct, Lizzy skirts the back of the shop until she is behind the professor at her usual table. The one who is attempting to concentrate on whatever work is pulled up on her laptop, while casually eyeing the comings and goings at the entrance, but not in an obvious way that would draw the attention of whoever it was that slipped a mysterious note into her pocket telling her to talk to him. 

Lizzy would like nothing better than to offer her a sympathetic pat on the arm but decides speed is her best option. The newest message is quickly slipped into Elizabeth’s bag and she doesn’t stop until she is out the door and around the corner. 

“One down, one to go.”

The _one to go_ enters the shop a minute later and Liz watches through the window as the ritual plays out, hopefully for the last time. She leaves her position when he turns from the counter, but doesn’t wait to see if he stops to adjust the lid and steal a glance at the woman by the window. It doesn’t matter now. She is ready when the Admiral exits and passes on his way up the block. When the crowd stops at the corner, waiting for the light to change, the second note slips unobtrusively into his jacket pocket. 

She allows herself a moment of sweet satisfaction imagining their reactions and something close to outrage at this newest message. The thought of the military officer and former agent bested again by an anonymous observer at the local coffee house has her laughing softly, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. 

“Okay, take me to the park.”

* * *

Lizzy arrives within the blink of an eye, but they will have had days to think about it. Stew about it more like. Days to talk themselves into or out of the mysterious invitation on the paper, each would later discover.

_Founders Park. Saturday at noon.  
_ _The center. Some chances are worth taking._

If only Raymond could be here to see it. He would chuckle softly, close to her ear, and tease her for being poetic. The center. A way for the Admiral and the Professor to meet in the middle, somewhere apart from their two very different lives. He will never know of it, though, as it is meant only for her. She must content herself with at least being witness to the mysterious something that she and Raymond have also felt from the very beginning. 

With a sigh, she sets off through the busy weekend crowd, keeping a watchful eye out for the pair of them. The large central greenspace is filled with families and sunbathers, anyone wanting to enjoy this clear summer day. As those near her take in the view of the river or turn their faces toward the sun overhead, Lizzy finds a place to sit with a vantage point to the walking path. 

And waits.

And waits.

“Can you tell me what time it is?” she finally asks a couple sitting nearby.

“About a quarter to twelve.”

Her eyes roll skyward as her impatience increases, before looking back toward the river to find that the Admiral has arrived at the middle of the path. 

The city seems to slow in an instant as the sounds of the people and traffic nearby fade to a quiet hum. She watches him pause, appearing as vaguely surprised as she feels in that moment, as he stops at a point near the river’s edge, exactly as the message instructed. He must be thinking the same thing. There is the smallest shake of his head and a chuckle to himself. Eventually his eyes are drawn toward the water and she can no longer see his expression, only the way he stands completely still with his hands in his pockets. 

Waiting. 

He doesn’t notice the woman walking toward him or see her steps falter when she sees him through the crowd.

Lizzy, on the other hand, has the perfect view and she finds herself leaning a little closer as everything grows quieter still.

Waiting.

Watching the professor follow the admiral’s line of sight to the water, as her hesitation grows and the doubt creeps into her expression.

“Come on, Lizzy,” she whispers to the woman who could be her other self, when she turns and retreats a few steps. “It must be you.”

Words she had written in the first note and perhaps they come back to the professor at that exact moment, just when her steps falter for the second time and she turns back toward the man that had caught her attention countless days ago. She takes a slow deep breath before retracing her path.

Until she stops.

Watching as the Admiral turns her way, as if sensing her there even from the distance still between them.

Until he finds her within the crowd and meets her gaze for the first time. The woman by the window. The reason he has done the first outrageous thing in longer than he can remember by following the note to the center of it all.

It’s the strangest thing, the sense of deja vu that suddenly comes to Lizzy in this universe that is not her own. Watching them watch each other as if there is no one else around. She and Raymond have done the same. It makes her smile remembering that day in the Post Office, with this same sensation as she walked down the steps toward the box and nothing was ever the same again. Perhaps it is only recognizable to her now that the hardest days are behind and only the road to the Pacific lies ahead.

And then the Admiral smiles, interrupting her reverie. 

That small smile Lizzy knows so well.

The same one that made her tell Raymond his profile and forget all about the contact they were to meet that night. There were many that have followed in all the days since, until she understood the depth of emotion behind every one.

But this smile is for Elizabeth and only for her. Liz watches as it is returned, as the professor continues forward, moving in and out of sight, weaving her way to where he waits. He must have meant to walk to her, just as Raymond did when she crossed the street the night of her release. He let the stillness root him to the spot and the Admiral does the same until Elizabeth is near enough to see his full expression that has been a little hidden by the cap he is wearing.

“Wow,” Lizzy whispers, unable to tear her eyes away, wondering how all these people surrounding them haven’t realized that sometimes fate does indeed work in astonishing ways.

She will never hear the words they speak, but there is no need. Her soft smile follows as the professor reaches her hand out to show him the note, causing him to shake his head. He fishes around in a pocket until his own scrap of paper is produced making her shrug. There will never really be an answer. It will always make them wonder, always make them laugh in the retelling of the tale, just as they do right now, quite oblivious to the crowd flowing around them. 

“Give it up. You’ll never guess.”

A secret that will remain between her and the universe. It was all worth it though and when the heat returns to her scar, she can’t help asking quickly, “They’ll be alright, won’t they?”

It immediately intensifies and she hangs on, long enough to see the Admiral point to a bench nearby and Elizabeth nod as they walk toward the water.

* * *

She expected to be pulled back to her bedroom, but the chatter and smell of coffee is unmistakable.

“What the….”

Another busy morning and the tinkling of the bell at the door signals the Admiral’s entrance only a few feet away. Lizzy ducks behind a display of coffee mugs and wonders if the park was merely an illusion when he takes his place in line, seemingly oblivious to the woman by the window, busy with her work.

“What is…”

His order is ready by the time he reaches the counter. He’s a regular after all.

“….happening?”

When he turns, he makes a point to stop and adjust the lid, stealing a glance toward the window. 

In perfect time with Elizabeth closing her laptop with a snap and throwing a brilliant smile his way.

“For god’s sake,” Lizzy breathes out in relief, grinning to herself as he goes to join her.

Once he is seated, Elizabeth leans forward to whisper something that causes his laughter to ring out. Lizzy moves behind a column, attempting to make out their conversation, when the heat of her scar causes her to gasp.

“Wait, not yet!”

The searing pain lasts only for a moment, turning her in a circle before she opens her eyes to another park. 

Or rather a college campus, she realizes, once the dizziness passes.

Time is a funny thing. The way it can speed up or hardly pass at all. The way its passage is tracked with the seasons and she takes a moment to admire the riot of color. Fall is in full bloom with enough chill in the air to make her shiver. Is this the fall to come? The one she and Raymond are going to outdistance for a while as they chase the fading summer to the south?

There is no way of knowing.

Until she sees the Admiral.

The answers are all right there. The profiler within begins putting the pieces together as she moves a bit closer, shielding herself behind a tree.

She has arrived somewhere within their future and realizes immediately that so much has changed while some things never will. He has found another bench to occupy as he passes the time reading a novel, looking quite relaxed. Far more relaxed than she has ever seen him. 

And somehow she understands.

The Admiral has finally left the Navy, years after it made him leave the sea. The officer that held his highest of ranks could never appear this at ease or while away the time reading something just for fun. He is simply Raymond now, making her miss the one that is waiting for her even more. 

Lizzy doesn’t see Elizabeth approaching and neither does he, but she is there in the next second, sneaking up from behind to pass him a coffee over his shoulder. His smile is immediate, the book promptly closed and put to the side. His attention is now on Elizabeth who has come to sit near him, leaning in to kiss him. When she pulls back, his hand reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Wow,” Lizzy murmurs again, mesmerized by the two that are mesmerized by each other.

The prick of her scar never comes. There is no need to ask for a few more minutes. Yes, time is a funny thing and it lets her steal an extra moment or two, watching what will come. 

As unexpected as can be.

Until she is ready. “They’re going to be alright.”

Not a question when the words come again, but the heat of her scar rises as if in answer. Their laughter reaches her on a breeze and Lizzy closes her eyes to Raymond pulling Elizabeth to his side, just a little closer.

Just in time.

“Goodbye,” she whispers and lets them go.

* * *

“Lizzy?”

His voice is the first thing she hears. 

Raymond. _Her_ Raymond.

It may be that only a few minutes have passed since she was pulled away, but it feels much longer, as if she finally understands the length of the universe she has traveled. For the final time. Her fingers brush the mottled skin of her scar that now sleeps, knowing it always will. The thought makes her smile and it lingers as she leaves her bedroom and stops at the top of the stairs, seeing him there at the bottom.

“Looking for this?”

He is holding her phone and waves it back and forth, but her eyes stay focused on his as she slowly shakes her head.

“Going somewhere?”

“New Orleans,” she murmurs, taking a step down and then another, until she arrives at the last one. “And then perhaps….Sedona or the painted desert. You can tell me all about Tuba City again.”

It makes him smile, just like that night in Montreal. Just like another she witnessed from a world away. 

“Were you wanting to leave right now?”

“No, not especially.”

There is a rather pointed look at the shoes she’s now wearing as well as a tug on the brim of her cap. “Lizzy, what—”

The question will never be asked.

It is lost in the momentary surprise that quickly turns to wonder when she reaches for him, drawing him into a kiss. Long and slow, until everything falls away. The clatter of her phone hitting the floor doesn’t distract nor the cap that soon follows it. Nothing at all but this. Only this.

“Wow,” he finally breathes out and she holds on tighter. 

A few seconds more before finally pulling back. “I know.”

She lets her hands drop to his chest, smoothing the soft linen of his shirt, and watches him, smiling almost to herself. 

He’d love nothing more than to know what is crossing her mind at that moment, when she suddenly takes a step back up and then another, letting her hand find his own.

And then he understands. 

“This isn’t the way to New Orleans.”

“I sincerely hope not,” she replies with a soft laugh, a step or two higher and turns, waiting for him.

It’s still there, the flicker of concern, when he stops below and brushes her hair back, revealing the bruise that is barely visible now.

She doesn’t know which impact worries him more, the car or all the months that preceded it as they fought to save their lives. They will both carry the scars of it, both a little battered even now. And just then the vision of the fall day comes to her. Not her life, not their future, but it still waits for them. Somewhere safe. Somewhere as yet unknown. Perhaps there they will find their measure of peace.

“Raymond, we’re going to be alright,” she says quietly, taking another step up, smiling when he does the same. “We have all the time in the world.”

* * *

She still wonders if it was real.

That is when she’ll take the small napkin from her bedside table, protected now in a frame of glass, letting her fingers trace its borders and the funny little imprint of a cup and saucer with the steam curling overhead. Her thoughts will return to those extraordinary summer days, holding them close in memory.

He once asked her about it, long ago when they were still in the tiny row house in Alexandria. When he happened upon her as she gazed at the crumpled paper that is always nearby no matter where the next road takes them.

She had smiled, almost to herself. “It reminds me of a dream I once had.”

“A good one I hope.”

“The very best,” she replied softly, tucking the frame away before moving to the circle of his arms. “I dreamed we were always meant to be.”

She still wonders.

But who’s to say dreams aren’t real. 


End file.
